


I Found A Reason

by Nevara_Alyss



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Fantasy, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-01-27
Updated: 2015-04-19
Packaged: 2018-03-09 07:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 24,721
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3241412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nevara_Alyss/pseuds/Nevara_Alyss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen was rebuilding himself, his ability to trust himself and others again. Then she came around. A mage he knew before the sky was sundered. Now they have to learn to deal with their pasts and work together in a time where nothing feels like it can go right and everything is taken for granted.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Cullen watched the ash fall from the sky. The smell of charred bodies and burnt wood wafted dangerously through the air. Only the briefest of breezes cleared his senses long enough to take a large inhalation. His body ached from fighting. Sweat beaded on his forehead. He didn't know how long this latest respite was going to last before he and his remaining men were confronted with another rift.

Several soldiers caught their breath. Others were wounded, but he wouldn't relieve them. He couldn't. He needed to fight until Cassandra caught up to them. He had split off from her group to get a bead on the situation, but was swamped by a rift opening. He had ordered his men through the gates and told the guards to not open it. 

“Commander, what are we going to do?” a soldier asked out of breath. “We are trapped here with that rift right on the other side of that door.”

Cullen let out a sigh and glanced up the mountain where the Temple of Sacred Ashes once stood.

“We keep going,” he ordered coldly. “Our job is to get up to the breach and see if we can at least contain it for the time being.” He looked around briefly before uttering, “Grab what you can. It's going to be a long walk.”

He eyed several of Leliana's scouts coming across the bridge and frowned. They stopped and saluted him as Leliana came from around them with a scroll in her hand. She looked somewhat relieved and baffled by what had happened before.

“The prisoner is awake,” she told him without stopping.

The two continued to the middle of the bridge and looked towards the sky. The situation couldn't have been anymore catastrophic. The events of Kirkwall, while horrible, didn't hold a candle to what they were beholden to now. Yes, a chantry was destroyed by a mage and the revered mother was murdered, and his Knight-Commander went completely off the deep end, but this was special. 

Most Holy was dead. The Conclave she had led was decimated except for one, and they had survived. He could hardly believe it when their soldiers had carried her out. He didn't know how they had managed to walk out of the Fade, but the murmurs that Andraste had aided her didn't assuage his unease as to her guilt or innocence. 

He had checked on her once and twice when she was comatose. Once while Adan, the alchemist-made-healer checked on her. Adan thought she would die in the night. She was feverish and convulsive. He couldn't bear to watch the bloody foam ooze from her mouth as she seized once and then twice. It might have been a blessing and punishment if she had died, if she had in fact been the one who sabotaged the meeting. 

The second time was when that apostate, Solas, had examined the glowing mark on her hand. He'd only stayed a moment, just long enough to listen to the elf mumble about possible reasons for its existence and what it could possibly be used for.

Solas had mumbled to himself that it was killing her, but intentionally loud enough for the former templar to hear.

“Is she?” Cullen retorted with a shrug. He ran his fingers through his sandy hair and continued to walk. “Then they better get up here as soon as possible. We're going to try and contain the demons long enough for Cassandra to get her up here.”

Leliana gave him a frown and then turned to a man who was glaring at her.

Cullen listened to the gates shut behind him and then proceeded to march up the hill. His wounded grunted with every step they took up the snowy crags leading to the Temple. He worried for them, and wished that he could have left them at the forward post, but there wasn't enough soldiers their to change personnel. He hoped that those that were weakened by the cold and blood loss would survive, but knew that the odds were not good.

He closed his eyes briefly as the sun reflected off the snow. This was not how he wanted to come back to Ferelden. Yet, here he was looking at a cataclysm and the possibility of another terrorist coming into his grasp.

No. Stop. You were trying to change. You don't have all the information to make that assertion. Stop jumping to conclusions. Not everyone is like Uldred or Anders, just like you are not Meredith nor her more sadistic cronies, he thought as he hit the path and continued headlong into a blown section of the Temple.

The group stopped to catch their breath. Raw chapped cheeks glistened with stinging sweat. Some of the men rested on their knees. The icy breath of the Frostbacks whipped up clouds of snow around them. His hand began to shake violently. How long had it been since his last dose of lyrium? Months for sure. The stress over what had happened and the realization that his abilities were slipping had made him want it that much more.

He shook his head and realized that the smell of burning had been left behind. In its place an odd smell that he couldn't quite place. A surge of crackling had ripped through the air above him. He jumped back and unsheathed his sword.

Not another one, he thought as he said a prayer to give him strength.

“Ready yourselves!”

The first group of demons sprang forth all around them. The sickening howl of one locking on to him pushed him to go on the offensive. Yells and shouts rippled through snowy rock faces. It sounded like a war was going on around them in that little spot.

He slid his blade into the monster and turned to aid another of his soldiers. Blood splashed across the stones and corrupted the snow around them in a bright, angry red. He couldn't tell if it was his or the knight beside him. He hurt all over and any wounds he would receive didn't matter at that point.

_Just hurry, Cassandra, and get her up here as soon as you can. We're not going to last too much longer with this rift open._


	2. Chapter 2

Tatum looked around the battlefield, her ears still ringing from the venom inflicted on them.  Her hand throbbed.  The new wound didn't abate, but grew with every burst of energy released from the breach.  Her finger tips tingled and grew numb.  Whether it was from the cold or the constant pain that wracked her nerves or a combination of the two, she couldn't say.  She held her wrist to keep the fire from rising.

The words “execution” and “killing you” taunted her.  She felt them gnaw at her with a damned if you do, damned if you don't sentiment. She glanced around the snow capped valley, unaware of the true danger those words held for her.  

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked from behind her.

“Yes,” Tatum replied with a nod and continued to walk.

“Don't worry about Chancellor Roderick, the most he can do is bark at this point,” Cassandra snorted with little amusement.

The light in her palm dimmed slightly.  It was a constant surge that was foreign and part of her, like a rogue limb.  She couldn't understand it.  Didn't want it.

They walked towards a precipice and peered down into the ruins of the temple.  The whirling snow did little to make their vision clear to the path they were headed.  Tatum made a fist with her wounded hand.  The little strength she had remaining seemed to grow with it out of her sight.

Cassandra scanned through the whiteout and pointed down a ways.  Tatum followed her gaze to the small group down below.  The faint glimmer of magic and steel rippled through the virgin white snow.  They rushed down the slope, sliding through snow and rocks to get to the fighters.  Though their footing was terrible, they made it to a more manageable path.  Panicked screams rode on the shrieking wind and the closer they drew the more frantic the fighting seemed to be.

One soldier, fighting a shade, was losing his balance on the icy stone.  The shade came at him, claws ready to tear into him.  Tatum focused herself, and let loose a lightning bolt at it.  The creature staggered back allowing Cassandra and the group to take the field.  However, the shade was now on to her, locked on with one idea in mind.  The rift flashed and in the haze of pain, the shadow loomed over her, a blood curdling screech emanating from it.

She put her staff before her to block the blow, but it was easily batted away.  The soldier she had saved before put himself between her and the shade.  They locked arms.  Both knew that one of them was going to fall without the other.  Tatum opened her hand, the embers of fire flickered to life in her hand.  It swelled within seconds.  Sweat beaded on her forehead.  She unleashed the flaming ball of magic on the demon.  It staggered back, giving the knight time to recover.  He gave it one final swing of his sword before the “life” flickered from him.

Solas, the elf, hurried her to the rift.  The searing anguish that had now consumed her body was now in full force as she lifted her quaking arm to the portal.  She closed her eyes, not wanting to loose her consciousness from the shock.  Her head swam with the dizzying noise surging through her ears and forcing itself into her body.  Every ounce of her strength became like the tide on the Storm Coast; it ebbed and flowed, pulled and pushed, was violent and reserved.

She felt a hand on her back and her own falling to her side.  She sighed, but it wasn't a sigh of satisfaction.  It came out as more of a shudder.

“You're getting good at this,” Solas uttered.  

The two of them looked at that gaping wound at the sky, both knowing that her intended target was it.  

 _And it's probably going to kill me,_ Tatum thought.

She turned around to the sound of shuffling steel and chain mail.  The knight she had saved before came up to them, he was bloodied but stoic underneath his ornate helm. Tatum looked around at the bodies that surrounded them. This was like before. The repetitiveness of death seemed to always come full circle for her. She thought she'd gotten away from it when she'd fled Kirkwall when their Knight-Commander had gone absolutely insane. It was why she joined the Conclave, to put an end to all the fighting that seemed so endless since the day of her flight. To seek recompense for so many wrong-doings and senseless deaths.

“Lady Cassandra, you closed the rift,” the knight said with relief.

Tatum froze. It wasn't the icy breath of the Frostbacks that had driven her to an almost statue-like stillness. It was that voice. It was familiar to her and yet she couldn't place it. She closed her eyes and winced at the painful thoughts flooding her mind. It was an outright travesty. The Maker's joke on her. 

_You're just going to have to face it. Face him,_ she told herself as she scuffed her heel along the ground anxiously.

“It wasn't me,” Cassandra corrected. “It was her doing.” 

Tatum flinched like she'd been punched in the stomach. She turned around to face them. She felt her face drain of color. Her throat snapped dry like the desert sands. She prayed it wasn't him. Not Meredith's second. Not the man who stood by and did nothing while listening to the pleas of other mages' pain. 

The knight cocked his head and removed his helm and tucked it under his arm. He looked at her closely. With the same amount of confusion and shock she felt. He licked his lips and squinted almost boring a hole right through her as he collected his own memories to sift through and find who she was. 

Tatum felt like she was going to be sick. A mix of anticipation and pain filled her with the urge to run. His expression softened slightly, the usually cold indifference she remembered him having slipped away. In it's place stood hope -cautious and restrained - which nearly matched Cassandra's. 

“This is -” Cassandra began.

“Knight-Captain Cullen,” Tatum replied softly. 

The nausea increased. She didn't know how much more she could stomach. Cassandra's eyes grew wide at Tatum. She felt the stunned stare loom over her long enough to weaken her resolve. Tatum's eyes fell to the ground, her ears buzzed. This was the Maker's attempt at a joke at her expense and she didn't find it amusing at all.

“Yes, um, well,” Cassandra stammered, still awash with shock. “Commander Cullen. Former Knight-Commander of Kirkwall's Templars. He leads are military forces.”

 _Someone's gone up in the world,_ Tatum thought, her blood running cold with the tiniest flames of anger beginning to grow into a roaring inferno in her chest.

“Commander Cullen, this is -,” Cassandra continued.

“Tatum,” Cullen said with a sad tone riding on his voice. Tatum lifted her eyes slowly to meet his. They were much more somber than she remembered. Not so hard, not so uncaring. Just concerned and doubtful. Cassandra grunted uncomfortably at the interruptions and turned away from the two of them standing awkwardly with soot and snow commingling around them. “Do you think you can do this?”

Tatum had her own reservations. If Cullen had just done his job she wouldn't have been in this situation. If he had listened, I wouldn't of had to – to-. Stop it, Tatum. It wasn't your fault, she scolded herself. Now was not the time for her to place blame. She was out of her cell to do something, something that was so much more pertinent than her bitter resentment and regrets.

“I'll try,” Tatum replied with a slight shrug.

Cullen let out a sigh and rolled his head on his shoulders. “That's all we can hope for at this point,” he replied. He looked exasperated and exhausted but turned his attention to Cassandra.  “The path is clear from here on out.”  He looked at Tatum, sizing her up as if to see she was actually capable of stopping the current situation.  “We're going to fall back to a ways to catch any stragglers.” 

 He never took his eyes off her.  It appeared to be a mix of suspicion and curiosity that crossed his face and refused to release him from it, like he was looking at a ghost from his past. He cleared his throat and began to walk away. He propped up a limping soldier and turned back to them. “Good luck, you two.”

She watched him leave, her own suspicions heightened.

When the snow drifts obscured the soldiers from their view they turned to the ruins and the devastation supposedly left in her wake.  They walked through the crumbling doorways and broken stone.  Charred bodies encased in soot and ash looked like macabre statues that would have dotted some Chaisnd's village.

She looked at the terrified faces, frozen in time.  Tatum had family here.  Could it have been this person?  Or that person?  Were they blown apart and floated on the ash they were breathing?  Did she do this?  Did she kill the Divine?  Her friends?  Why?  What had happened?

The more she questioned herself, the more she became frustrated by the lack of memories.  She let out a small growl that drew the attention of the dwarf, Varric.

“You alright?” he asked with a lopsided frown. His sudden question broke the awkward silence that Tatum had preferred. 

“Yes,” Tatum replied. _I don't know anymore_ , she thought as the swirling energy of the breach began to encompass them. They walked to where the breach was and saw a large rift, frozen and bound before them.  “How are we going to get to it?”

Solas frowned and switched his staff to his other hand as he thought out loud.  “This is the main one.  I don't know if you'll have enough energy to close the breach on your own.  But sealing this rift might slow it down and stop it from expanding.”

“Hence not killing me in the process,” Tatum remarked.

Solas's shoulders slumped.  “Possibly.  This is largely an unknown.  It may or may not.”

“Are you ready,” Cassandra interjected.

Tatum nodded as her eyes panned around what was once where the Conclave was.  Bodies flickered and flowed with a flame from within them.

“The world's not going to get any less mad with us standing here.  Let's get this over with,” Tatum replied.

_For better or worse._


	3. Chapter 3

Cullen felt the shock wave roar through him. Several people scattered as chunks of debris flew through the air and smashed the ground around them. The way station where he'd rested his soldiers had now become a mortuary for those that hadn't survived the fighting. He'd lost two on the way down, both from wounds that they couldn't have sustained being so far from a healer. He regretted it, wished he could have left them at the forward camp, but he needed them. This was so much bigger than him, them or anyone.

Still, it was a poorly constructed excuse he had to force himself to swallow.

He heard the yelling before him. The sounds of boots hitting stone drawing closer at a fast clip. People were running toward him. His eyes narrowed on the pass before them. The first group of scouts came towards him, followed by a soldier carrying an unconscious woman over his shoulders. A messy mop of black hair hung over her face. He stopped them and swept away the damp locks away.

Tatum was unconscious. A small dribble of blood trickled from her lips. He took a step back. His skin prickling with fear. She was pale, dark circles surrounded her eyes. His eyes darted around the landscape.

 _Tatum_ , he thought. _Where have you been?_

He straightened to try and hide his discomfort. His resolute stance ebbing the more her name sounded off in his head. If she was the last, best hope for Thedas, then that was what the Maker had decided. He couldn't argue with it.

“Get her to Adan. Quickly,” he ordered the soldier.

He quickly nodded and continued down the pass without a word.

Cullen glanced up to the sky and was ill at ease still. Something had gone wrong. It should have closed the breach. At least that's what they had hoped anyways. He shook off the idea of failure – which was always lingering in the back of his mind – and looked to the ground. Small spots of blood led a trail down the mountain and back up to where the temple was. He placed his hands on his hips and shook his head.

 _Not again_ , he thought with an angry glare at the desecrated snow swept stone.

He'd only seen her one other time with a split lip and that was only for the briefest of seconds before his fellow Templars had led her back to her room. She'd slipped from the effects of her Harrowing. Dizziness and all that, they told him. He understood that mages were individually affected by the lyrium during it. Some were sick for at least a week, others ended up ready to go about living their lives that same day.

She was fine when he'd seen her after hers. He had resided over it - as Meredith had become increasingly paranoid in the previous months. It was one of the final Harrowings in Kirkwall before the Rite of Annulment was called and everything seemed to be cast into the Void. But then the rumors of sedition started and mages began to disappear. 

More tranquil every day. Less viable mages. He just didn't want to hear it nor believe that Meredith and the others were capable of breaking Chantry law. He was willfully ignorant to it; he realized that in hindsight. It didn't change the fact that, she'd ran. Apostate. Stolen phylactery. No way to track and question her. And now here she was. The bitter taste of irony licking its chops at his weakness.

He ground his toes into the now frozen droplets and sighed. He wanted to wash the sanguine blood away, but no matter how much effort he put into it, it seemed to stay, unbroken and shimmering in the fading sunlight. It was taunting him. He hated it. What in the Maker's name had happened up there?

He heard more talking and saw the apostate, Varric, Cassandra, and Leliana coming towards them. They all looked exhausted and it was a feeling he shared with them. It had been one of those days. The ones where you wish you could forget they ever happened and that everything could go back to the way it was. But such thoughts were for naught. This was the reality they lived in now.

“We sealed the rift,” Cassandra said with an unamused look upon her face.

“What happened to Tatum?” Cullen asked with a slight cock of the head.

“She lost consciousness once the rift was closed,” Solas replied with a furrowed brow. He held up a second staff to make his point and planted it into the ground. “However, she is stable for the time being.”

Cullen let out a sigh of relief. “Then we are safe now.”

They continued to walk the winding path down to Haven. The sinuous path laid bare. Bodies lined it, covered by burlap. So many faceless people died senselessly. It was almost too much to stomach.

“Cullen,” Leliana called from behind him.

He stopped and waited for her. He turned slightly letting the redhead catch up to him.

“We didn't close the breach,” she told him. Her voice was sullen and wavered slightly. “We just stopped it for now.”

“Then was this all for nothing,” he snapped. He continued walking; his hands became fists as the first fires came into view.

So many refugees filed through the tents and buildings that littered the pilgrimage spot. This was supposed to be a holy place. A place of reflection, and now it was a war torn encampment for survivors of the days of fighting.

He headed to the Chantry; the Chant of Light echoed through the stone building as the sisters recounted the Canticle of Transfiguration. People prayed on their knees. The heavy smell of incense tainted the air. It was stifling and felt like he was being smothered by it. A holy place indeed, he thought to himself as he walked into Josephine's office.

He could barely make her out in the dark room. A lone candle, half-spent, flickered by her arm. Stacks of books were littered around the room. Treatises and scrolls sat on top of the desk. He almost decided to leave her alone when she lifted her eyes from a document and frowned.

“Is there something you need, Commander Cullen,” her heavy Antivan accent shone through with every word she spoke.

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck nervously and sighed.

“We didn't close the breach. Just the main rift at the Temple,” he remarked.

“I heard.” Josephine set her quill down and eyed the document in front of her. “Did Lady Cassandra and Leliana come back with you?”

“They were behind me,” he replied. He glanced out the door and saw and heard weeping out in the grand hall. So many people had lost a loved one, a friend and he was helpless to do anything about it. “You know what this means, correct?”

“I do,” Josephine answered. She grabbed the parchment off the desk and came around to him. “This is part of a file that Leliana was able to gather on the prisoner. Chancellor Roderick wants it and wants your men to ready her for transport to Val Royeux.”

“It's not going to happen,” Cullen grumbled without even looking at the document. “We have our orders and whatever that entails. We can't let them use her as a scapegoat.”

“Then what is the matter?” Josphine asked putting her hand on her hip.

“I -” Cullen stammered and then shook his head in frustration. “If Cassandra asks where I went tell her I went to check on Tatum.” He pressed the door open with his shoulder and stopped. “They didn't put her back in the prison, did they?”

Josephine smirked and pointed with her finger. “No. Last I heard, the Herald was being checked on by Adan. Far left house nearest the gate.”

“The Herald?” Cullen snorted uncomfortably. “That's new.”

"I could say the same regarding the knowledge you have about her without even looking at the document," Josephine retorted with a snort. She dropped her shoulders and began to retreat back to her desk. She took her spot and looked at him curiously. When she realized she wasn't going to get anymore than that out of him she continued, “Once word got back here that the rift was closed, and that she had done it, people put two and two together and there we have it.”

“Whatever works to give these people hope,” Cullen stated. It still felt like they were propping her up as a sacrificial lamb. If anything happened, it would fall on her. “They're going to need it in the coming days.”

“True enough,” Josephine agreed. “Good night, Commander.”

He closed the door behind him and made his way back out of the Chantry. The air was crisp. He saw his breath with each exhale. Tavern music spilled out into the night along with a cacophony of laughter coming from the people within. The smell of cooked meat and ale beckoned to him, but he had to check on her.

He looked to the last houses before the main gate. Only one had candlelight illuminating the window. He took the first couple of steps towards the house and stopped. His curiosity over this new “herald” was nothing more than a mage. The templar in him told him that she needed to be watched, while the counterpart told him that she wasn't a bad person. The same spiel that had become his mantra. It was a reservation that he couldn't just let go of. Mages needed to be protected, sure. Not just from demons and possession, but those that would do them harm. Be it mage or mundane.

He just didn't want to become one of those that they needed protection from, and it was a trap that was easy to fall into. Especially now with the sky torn asunder and mages – and templars – killing the innocent. He had to find faith that they were all put on this path for a reason and some roads are more difficult for others. And Maker willing this Herald was exactly what the faithful proclaimed her to be: the answer to their prayers.


	4. Chapter 4

Cullen stood outside the house. His fist lingered a mere inches from the door. Shadows danced across the wall and Adan's gruff voice muttered off profanities several times before the movement stopped. Cullen watched it, listened to the sound of water falling and then the heavy sigh came from the man.

“Oh! Adan, we need you. You're our healer. We're sorry we don't have one that's specifically trained right now. Yes, we know you are an alchemist, but you do have knowledge that could help save her. She's our Herald,” Adan's voice pleaded in a mocking female tone. He cleared his throat, letting it slip into its natural octave “Bah. What does that Seeker know?”

Cullen leaned slightly into the window to see what the alchemist was doing. The most he saw was his back and the subtle movements of a person at work. A roaring fire lit up the single room dwelling and the sweet smell of pine burning was relieving compared to the death that had stuck to him.

“Is there something wrong?” Solas asked from behind him.

Cullen jumped nearly out of his skin. Solas watched him. His eyes squinting as if peering into his soul. It was unsettling how narrow the elf's eyes became, like a hunter looking for signs of weakness.

“No.” Cullen finally replied when his heart had slowed down to normal. “I'm just letting Adan finish his work. He doesn't need the distraction. What are you doing here?”

Solas looked at him closely slightly leaning into him and then snorted in amusement. “My apologies for startling you. I'm here to check on the Mark and how she is doing in general.” Solas walked up beside him and nodded for him to knock. Cullen did so and listened to more slurs erupting from the window. “You may join me if you wish.”

Cullen nodded.

The door was violently yanked open. Streams of yellow light and heat poured out into the night. Adan glared at both of them and then softened when he saw Cullen standing there with annoyed look on his face. He was allowed that emotion. Tatum’s familiar face just appearing before him on a demon-laden mountain and the look of sheer disgust on her face did little to dissuade his feeling of irrelevance.

He knew Leliana, if only in passing from when the Warden came. _The Warden. Now that's a person I haven't thought about in a long time_ , he thought. The smallest little curl came to his lips. That was so long ago. He doubted that Cara would have given him a warm reception either.

“Sorry, Commander,” Adan said as he invited them in. His tone wasn't truly apologetic, more for show. It was more frustrated. Adan had made that abundantly clear when he didn't think anyone was listening. “I'm just finishing up here.”

Cullen walked into the house and leaned against a nearby table. Solas took his place on a small stool at Tatum's bedside. Cullen watched the apostate lift up her small hand and turn it palm-side up. He examined it intently. Never saying a word to either of them.

“How is she?” Cullen asked Adan.

The alchemist zoomed around the room, picking up papers and herbs off a nearby table and putting them in a small belt pouch on his hip. Cullen crossed his arms; his fingers drummed on his arm as he waited for the squirrely man to stop moving for a second and answer his question. Adan stopped in the center of the room and searched around his belt until he was satisfied.

“Sleeping. Stable. Breathing is normal. She should be up sometime soon,” Adan replied. “A simple tincture took care of the bloody lip.”

Cullen looked over the the alchemist's shoulder and frowned. Adan's voice became a droning buzz that only was clear when “exhaustion,” “mage,” and “lucky” were uttered. “How soon?” Cullen pressed further. He placed his hands on the desk and leaned back. He didn't get it. Probably would never understand how they had crossed paths. Fate seemed to be the cruel mistress of the day for him.

Adan's face twisted. Cullen could tell that Adan wasn't able to give him a straight answer. That wasn't acceptable. He needed to know. They needed to know. His own curiosity seemed to be of nostalgia. But that was something that could be set aside. Too many other questions needed to be answered. His personal ones, again, were irrelevant.

“Soon, Commander,” Solas chimed in. “Don't worry. Your _Herald_ will be just fine.” Cullen pushed off the desk and approached the elf, still examining the young woman's hand. His fingers swept gently across her palm as he worked. Solas murmured out loud to himself as if making mental notes, “It's stopped growing. When she closed the rift at the Temple, it stopped the breach from growing as well. There must be a connection.”

“Well that's a relief,” Cullen remarked with a sigh.

He pulled a chair over and sat at the foot of the bed. Solas shot him a look of amusement and returned to his studies. Solas felt her head and then returned to her hand before turning to the Commander with a look of utter curiosity.

“You seem to have some _familiarity_ with her,” Solas stated.

Cullen swallowed hard. He and Tatum arrived at the Circle at the same time. She was nothing but a child then. Scared of the world and the Gallows, just as many of the other mages were. He saw her grow, mature and then became nothing more than a name on a signed document for her to undertake her Harrowing; or the list of missing phylacteries and mages.

Thrask was better acquainted with her and one of the young templar lads as well. He tried to be nice to her when she was younger, but what had happened to him at Kinloch Hold had left him raw. More mages always being born and this frail little girl with sharp hazel eyes stared at him through a thick set of black bangs wanting his attention. And it always ended the same way: with an older mage boy coming to shoo her away as if protecting her from him.

Cullen couldn't shake the lump in his throat. He nodded his head, finally conceding to the truth. He rested his head on his hands and sighed. He didn't know how complicated this was going to make things. Nor did he understand the ramifications of his inaction. Her tearful stare as her friends were dragged off to be made tranquil. The accusations of abuse that she and others had endured under his watch which she'd written about and he had only found in Meredith’s desk drawer after the Rebellion. The date signed for the day she’d left the tower. She’d called Meredith and him personally to task for their failures and turning a blind eye to what was happening.

Solas didn't reply. For that matter, he didn't look like he cared. What did matter to him at that moment was Tatum and that Mark on her hand. He studied it, taking a small dagger from his belt and drawing it across her hand. Cullen nearly jumped out the chair, but ordered himself to remain still. He wanted to know the elf's intentions and was answered in short order.

Solas took a couple of drops and dripped them into an ampule of sweet smelling solution. He shook it and glanced at Cullen.

“ So. _Herald of Andraste_?” Solas's questioned with a mocking tone. “A mage, likened to your Chantry's prophet? That is a bit of irony. Let alone the sheer insanity of her physically surviving being in the Fade.”

 _Indeed it is_ , Cullen thought before turning his attention to the woman.

“It seems impossible, even to me,” Cullen admitted. “One would think it would be like a waking nightmare.”

Solas chuckled and shook his head. “Probably. To a much more painful extent.” He turned his gaze to her and frowned. “She still dreams. Being 'awake' in the Fade for her now -,” he paused and shook his head. “It must be terrifying. Her mind has to reconcile and consolidate that her physical state was in the Fade. A place no living being should ever tread.”

Solas finished mixing the vial and poured the blood and liquid into a bowl and lit it with a snap of his fingers. The flame burned blue. It danced and dimmed and then snuffed out quickly. Solas placed a rag to her palm and squeezed gently.

Cullen nodded and rose from his chair. He stretched, the weight of his armor pulled him down again into the chair. His whole body was tired and the night, for him anyways, was still young. So much paperwork to be completed and reports that needed to be read, he would have been lucky if he got any sleep at all.

“Thankfully, she survived.” Cullen stated as he started to yawn. He covered his mouth and muttered, “Maker knows what's going to happen in the next few days.”

He stood up and turned to the woman sleeping in the bed. She was so petite. Her black hair was tied up, gentle red streaks framed around her crown. She almost looked like Cara sleeping when he'd carried her to bed from her Harrowing. Except something was off about this scene. A single tear rolled down Tatum's cheek and onto her pillow. He watched her hands clutch at the blanket like she was fighting. Fighting what? Demons? People? Templars? Mages?

Solas rose from his chair and placed his hand once again on her forehead. He murmured a small incantation in Elvish and Tatum slowly stilled. He wiped away the streak the tear had made and frowned.

“She'll be alright. I'm sure nightmares will be common,” Solas said. He started for the door, but stopped to give Tatum one last curiosity-induced once over.

“Does that thing on her hand hurt her?” Cullen asked.

Solas shrugged and opened the door. “If you're that concerned, you'll have to ask her when she wakes up. Now that the Breach is stable – for the time being anyways – it shouldn't be too much of a concern. Earlier today, however, yes, it was hurting her. Understandably so. Once she saves the world, which I expect you and Cassandra have planned for her, then we'll see how she's feeling.” He smiled slightly and took a couple steps outside. “Don't worry, Commander, I'll keep an eye on her until she awakens. Good night.”

Cullen turned back to Tatum and frowned. Another mage had saved him. Cara had saved him at Kinloch Hold and now another mage he knew had done the same. It seemed like a cruel sense of irony given how little trust he'd had in them after Uldred's assault. He didn't trust Cara and he rewarded her kindness with cold, cruel words that should have never been meant for her.

“Thank you,” he murmured to Tatum and walked out of the house.

He headed back towards the Chantry, his mind flooded with thoughts of Cara. He knew that Leliana knew the Hero of Ferelden. He wondered where the mage was now. Ten years was a long time to hold a candle, but he didn't just know her, he loved her, and now she was missing with the rest of the Grey Wardens. He didn't want it to end the way it had and there laid the end of the chapter of that part of his life. She was nothing but a footnote on what had happened on the worst day of his life and he was beside himself to face the counter stroke of the Kirkwall incident without Cara to back him up.

He retired to his shared quarters and laid in bed. Dreaming seemed like a dangerous game right now, but his eyelids felt heavy enough to dare and risk it. Even if it meant reliving his friends' deaths more vividly than ever before, but that seemed like a piddly burden compared to what Tatum was going to have to endure probably forever and the world would spin madly on never knowing and never caring.


	5. Chapter 5

Tatum awoke with a start. Her head flooded with memories as fast a rate as the surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She sat up and looked around the room she was in. A small crackling fire warmed the room. Herbs and bottles lined the shelves on the walls. The sweet smell of blood lotus and soap were crisp and welcoming to her senses.

She rubbed her eyes, trying to remove the pain and sleep from them. She let out a grunt and swung her legs off the bed. _What's happened? How long have I been out_ , she thought as she continued to gaze around the room. Everything still felt like a dream or a terrible nightmare she couldn't find herself waking from. Rifts, Breach, Knight-Captain Cullen: all stuff that couldn't have been lined up at the same time for. Hence, nightmare.

Tatum heard a gasp from the floor. Her eyes fell to the small hunched over body before her. She cocked her head, unable to figure out what the person was doing.

“Umm,” Tatum began with to get their attention.

“The Herald of Andraste!” the woman's voice murmured full of awe.

“Excuse me?” Tatum queried. “Who?”

“You're the Herald of Andraste, my lady,” the woman replied, her eyes slowly lifting up to hers. She scurried to her feet and took a couple of steps away. “You're the one that closed the rift at the Temple. Lady Cassandra said that we are safe now for the time being.”

“Well, that's good,” Tatum grumbled. She glanced out the window behind the elven woman and saw the people meandering outside her room. _What have they been telling people about me?_ , she thought angrily. “Where is she?”

The elf took two more steps back and stammered, “She's at the Chantry with the others. She said she wanted to see you the moment you woke up.” The woman's words began to accelerate with every inch backwards. “She said at once.”

“Right,” Tatum sighed.

Before she could ask anymore questions, the woman ran from the house yelling that the Herald of Andraste had awoken. The door slammed shut behind her, leaving Tatum completely dismayed. All the air was sucked out of her. She didn't know where to begin rationalizing this new revelation that seemed to fall into her lap.

She growled loudly and paced about the room.

 _I'm not some Herald. I am not anything. Why would I want something like this nonsense to diminish my reason for being here?_ She stopped walking and looked at the door. _And Cullen is here. Wonderful. Commander of their forces. Yeah._ Her hands balled into fists. _They'll probably want me to join their little club. Play nice with The – Little - Andrastian – Super Group._ Her thoughts continued to seethe. She looked at her hand and saw the Mark still glowing faintly upon her palm and shook her head. This was not good. _Not good at all. Yes, I agreed to help. Not to be propped up like some savior._

She started pacing again, her eyes looking at the scattered documents on a nearby desk. They looked like military reports that were requiring a signature. Troop numbers and requisitions. Everything a mighty army would need. Tatum glanced out the window again and sighed. _Why are these in here?_ She drew closer to the window and saw soldiers standing at attention in front of her door. _Oh, Maker._

“Am I just mad that he's here?” she asked out loud to herself. Her head fell back, eyes closed and murmured, “I can't tell if this You forcing me to put my feelings aside or that it's time to do what I've thought about doing in the event I saw him again.”

Her fingers started to tingle. It scrolled up her arm and then stopped at her shoulder where an old stab wound resided. She placed her hand on it and frowned. _I know that wasn't his fault. It wasn't his blade. But it was his men._ The tingle became a burn the made her fall to her knees. Too many emotions. Too many evil thoughts.

_I just can't forgive him. Not after what happened. Not after Maddox, Lily, Joshia, and so many others. Not after so many failures._

Her strength waned. Her resolve began to falter. So many questions left unanswered as to the where's and why's of the entire situation. She shook uncontrollably; every muscle ached and begged to stop. She looked to the door again, remembered those people standing there, waiting for her to emerge into the sunlight. Slowly the heat of her pain subsided. She made no gains in her confidence.

The faith those people had, she didn't share. Even coming from a devout bloodline of nobles from Ostwick, she didn't share the same candor for the Maker as they did. She doubted. Skepticism became her greatest strength and greatest weakness.

And now she rose, her legs trembling; throat burning from holding back screaming, and approached the door. She rested her hand on the handle and inhaled. So many doubts and insecurities came to mind as she slowly opened the door and stepped out into the blinding sun. Men and woman stood at attention, motionless. Silent. The only sound came from the breeze rattling through the boughs of the pine trees. She saw the Breach. Still there. Like her own personal failure. Only this one was large enough for the world to see.

Her heart sank at the thought. The last thing she remembered was a blast and then darkness. She'd gone up there to seal it. Gone to face a double-edged sword of execution or being devoured by a magical tear on her hand that she had no idea how she'd received.

She looked at the masked faces. Clad in armor and felt their eyes on her. Inspecting her. Awing at her presence. It was nerve racking, nausea inducing. She saw the Chantry on the hill and began to approach it. People huddled in bunches around the Chantry doors, whispering about her arrival. Some smiled. Most stared in disbelief.

Tatum's eyes dropped as she reached for the door. It swung open fast, nearly sending her to the ground. Two strong hands caught her and set her right. She adjusted her robes and frowned. _You silly sonofabi-_ , she thought and glared at the owner of the hands.

“Cullen,” she said, stunned by who it was.

“Sorry, Herald. I heard you were awake and Cassandra and I came to greet you,” he said with a matter of fact tone.  His face betrayed his voice though.  Curiosity, anger; a complete juxtaposition of contradictory emotions probably leading all the way up to relief.  He looked over his shoulder at Cassandra, her arms folded. Her posture was one of impatience with a glare to match. “But I have to keep this short, my apologies. There are some issues I must attend to.”

“That's fine,” Tatum replied.

She didn't care where he was going. It had just better be away from her. Cullen excused himself and quickly left her to deal with Cassandra. As the door closed behind her, she glanced back at him and pictured the strange expression on his face.

He can't believe I'm really here either, she thought. Guess we share that in common at least. Except if I saw you again... she stopped herself from continuing her line of thinking when she met up with Cassandra.

“Herald we need your help,” Cassandra started as they walked through the chantry.

The smell of incense and smoke permeated the air. Their footsteps echoed around them in the stone structure. The Chant of Light was being sung. All of these things made her uncomfortable. It was like walking around her estate in Ostwick before she was sent to the Circle there. People feigning piety and ostensibly snubbing those who lacked their level of devotion.

To her, it was a cruel game made crueler by her magic manifesting at six and made even worse – if that was at all possible – by her transfer to Kirkwall.

She listened to Cassandra and Leliana talk about what had been going on since she fell asleep again. Chancellor Roderick still wanted her in chains and off to Val Royeaux, much to Cassandra's defiance of his command he backed down, leaving the three women to realize that they were on their own, with no Chantry to back them up and the world was being torn apart from above and below with the Mage Rebellion and Templars pulling away from the Chantry.

“We're on our own,” Leliana said, folding her arms.

“Probably forever,” Cassandra added. “Most Holy wanted this Inquisition if everything failed. It has to work. We'll make it work. All of us. With your help.”

Tatum quirked an eyebrow and glanced at the final edict written by Divine Justinia. So many people had died already. She'd lost friends, both mages and templars, to the war. At the very least, she could help them with that, rally support, end the bloodshed, make some damnable use out of the Mark she'd been branded with.

“Alright,” Tatum answered with a sigh. “I'll do it.”

 _I'll work with you. I'll try and bind my emotions for the time being. Try to realize that with Cullen here and aiding me – I mean – them..._ , she thought to herself as she shook Cassandra's hand in agreement. _That means coming to terms with the fact that my wont for retribution has to come to an end._


	6. Chapter 6

Cullen watched his troop run drills in the makeshift training yard. Raw recruits, some almost too intimidated by more seasoned veterans, nervously swung their swords. It was a level of frustration that he hadn't experienced in awhile. He knew with practice and confidence, they would eventually learn to tell the difference between the blade and the grip. Some of these people were nothing but pilgrims that had gotten caught in the aftermath of the blast. Others were volunteers from the nearby village. There was a certain level of irony that he felt about turning those who were on pilgrimages into battle ready soldiers.

He shook his head. The bright sunlight and snowblindness made his head hurt. The constant clatter of steel on steel or steel on wood didn't help matters in the slightest. His fingers twinged. The first onset of a withdrawal attack coming on. He crossed his arms to hide it and looked across the field to where the remaining templars resided. There weren't many of them left, by all accounts, there wasn't much of an order with it fractured as it was.

“Commander,” a scout beckoned.

Cullen turned to him and saw the wrapped scroll in the scout's gloved hand. The commander took it and frowned as he untied the scroll and read the report. They were short on weapons, armor, just about everything he'd need to field an army. And now with the Chantry branding them heretics, there wasn't going to be anything coming in from that end.

He rubbed the strain from the back of his neck and turned toward Haven's main gate. Civilian workers, trudged through the icy snow carrying large crates up the slick steps towards the Chantry. His eyes panned around, a feeble attempt to relieve the tension in his head, and saw Varric and Tatum speaking outside the smithy.

He knew the dwarf from Kirkwall. It was the same long torrid history he shared. Except that Varric was friends with the Champion of Kirkwall at the time. And helped her regain some semblance of control of the city after the Circle rebelled. In the aftermath of that, Cullen had helped her too; working closely with the viscountess to help Kirkwall rebuild. All of her friends, Cullen included, knew it was an exercise in futility in the after effect of the fighting. Normalcy, for all intents and purposes, was a word that they all knew, but were never granted. 

And then she was gone and left him to pick up the pieces. He didn't know why she'd left. She'd sent her lover away shortly before that and spent the rest of her time planning with him. _In hindsight, it was like you were preparing me to take over when you departed, he thought with a small frown. Just like Tatum's letter was her good-bye to everyone she knew; harsh and taunting words aside._

He found himself walking towards the two of them. They weren't speaking now, but meandering through the racks of swords and leathers. On a small table was a pack that Tatum would place sundry items into. He knew they were leaving to go south toward the Hinterlands. It was several days trek by foot, but they were in need of supporters and they had found one tending to the wounded and desperate. She was to make contact with them and bring them back.

Cullen cleared his throat and Varric turned to him. The dwarf had a big smile on his face that was more foxy and sly than welcoming. He nudged Tatum and she stopped and looked down at the dwarf by her side.

“Curly is here,” Varric said almost playfully.

Tatum looked at Cullen and cocked her head. “You want to talk, I take it?” Cullen swallowed and nodded. Tatum shook her head in annoyance and let out a sigh. “Alright.” She turned back to Varric and asked him to finish packing up while she dealt with this “issue.”

The two of them walked in silence. Tatum watched the ground in front of her. Her eyes never lifting higher than people's knees. Cullen kept glancing at her and only saw her shrinking like she'd been caught for being on the run. They walked back to her small house. He held the door open for her and she slid through, almost afraid to touch him. When the door shut behind them he turned to her and stared.

“What are you doing here?” he asked as he folded his arms.

“I could ask you the same thing, Knight-Captain,” Tatum spat.

She began to meander around the room, as if to avoid any further conversations. He rested against the door, not allowing her to leave until they'd hashed out their issues. If they were going to be working together they'd have to let everything from before go.

“I'm not Knight-Captain anymore. I'm not even a Templar anymore; I've left the Order,” Cullen explained. Tatum stopped pacing and gave him a sideways look. “Cassandra recruited me after the Rebellion.” He inhaled sharply and continued. “That's why I'm here.” The mage looked out the window with a deep frown. “Where have you been all this time, Tatum?”

The woman was motionless, expressionless, like she didn't want to be interrogated. He sensed her discomfort and knew that they were both disenchanted with the idea of each others presence. But he waited patiently for her to speak. It would happen.

“Around,” she finally answered. 

_That's not a satisfactory answer_ , Cullen thought. His expression matched his thoughts. His eyes narrowed, almost pinning her in place. Her hands balled into fists. The angry glint of fire surged behind her eyes, giving her soft hazel eyes a brighter shade of green.

“Tatum,” he urged.

“Why do you care!?” she yelped. She began pacing at a faster step now, only stopping when something had caught her attention. She picked up a piece of parchment and read it. Her eyes drifted over to him. She was rigid. Her hands now in a death grip around the paper. “I'm not one of your charges anymore.”

“I know that,” Cullen responded. His own discomfort began to make him twitch. Another lyrium withdrawal attack was beginning to gnaw at him. “It's just that -.” He paused as the pain began to increase. He rubbed his eyes, begging the pain to just ebb long enough to withstand this confrontation. “I'm here to protect you.” _Odd choice of words_ , he thought to himself. But he couldn't take them back now.

“Protect me from what?” Tatum's voice dropped to a whisper. “Demons? Templars? Myself?Anything? Everything?”

“You know I lead the Inquisition forces. I'm here to stand as your shield against those that would attack you, regardless of banner,” he replied. “Leliana is here to match wits with those of a more dubious nature and Josephine is there to be your voice to those that will help us.” He turned to face the window. He rested his hands on the sill and sighed. “Cassandra is there to protect you in the field.”

“I didn't ask any of you to do that,” Tatum murmured. “Too many people have already died in my name. By someone else's blade. Or -” Cullen turned to her. She was wringing her fingers. Eyes downcast. A whiter shade of pale crossed her face. “By my own hand.”

“I understand that,” Cullen replied. He commiserated with her. A circle mage, who'd never really been out in the world, at the apex of a civil war, would be in a fit of culture shock. “We can take care of you. The Chantry might have branded us heretics, but we believe you are capable of doing what needs to be done. We've all got blood on our hands.”

“Some more than others,” Tatum choked out with a ominous glare.

Cullen let out an exasperated sigh. He couldn't find the words. An apology wouldn't suffice. Not here and not with what he'd done or didn't do. Not for what she'd bore witness to.

A knock broke the deafening silence between them. 

“Tatum, are you ready to go?” Varric's voice called from the other side of the door. “Or do you two need a few more minutes.”

“You didn't tell him?” Cullen asked with a lifted eyebrow.

Tatum shook her head and walked to the door. She placed her hand on the knob and sighed. “Who can I trust? I don't really know any of you. Nor do you know me.”

She opened the door and stared at him. Her eyes glistened with restrained tears. She didn't say anything nor did he. He just let his eyes fall away. He understood what she was saying. There was more that needed to be said, but nothing would have mattered at that point.

 _She's right_ , he thought. _We don't know each other._

And with that, she was gone. _Again_. To rally support for their Inquisition, still in its infancy. Or to get away from him. Her being here had made everything inside him disquiet. He knew that he couldn't apologize to every Kirkwall mage that had been killed during the annulment or forced into tranquility. 

_Maybe this is the Maker's way for me to atone._


	7. Chapter 7

Tatum stood outside the stables. The large horse whinnied and stomped its heavy hooves upon the frozen ground. Her sack of ingredients she'd picked up for Adan weighed heavily on her shoulder. Two weeks traipsing through muck and blood to reach Mother Giselle had left the mage concerned and weary. So many mages, templars, and bandits had littered their path through the Hinterlands. She'd fought before, but never so strenuously. _I have to stop this somehow_ , she thought as she switched her pack to her other shoulder.

She bit her lip, exhaustion and trepidation about her return to Haven filled her. Casandra noticed her discomfort coming up the path, but didn't mention it. It was too late in the evening to begin another interrogation and both sought the small comfort that was bed. Varric had invited her to have a drink with him at the tavern. Tatum didn't know if she was up to doing that. As friendly as the dwarf had been, she still had reservations about him. Too many years of constantly looking over her shoulder waiting for those close to her to stick a knife in her back had made her numb to the concept of camaraderie. 

“Are you going to be standing out here all night,” Leliana asked out of nowhere.

Tatum jumped. The only thing that kept her on the ground was the death grip on the stable fence. Again she bit her lip, this time harder, and shook her head. “No. I was just thinking.”

Leliana came up beside her and looked at the beast. She didn't say anything, just stuck her hand out to touch the horse's nose. It sniffed around her gloved hand and lowered its head.

“Cullen was looking for you,” Leliana remarked. Tatum looked at her. The spymaster's eyes were fixated on the horse alone. There was no expression. No sense of intrigue. Why would there be? As per Casandra, Leliana found out everything about me, Tatum thought. When Tatum hadn't responded to the news, Leliana glanced at her. “You're not going to ask why?”

“No,” Tatum answered. “If it's really that important, he'll find me.”

“I see,” Leliana murmured. Her eyes drifted up to the Chantry and then back to Tatum. “I know all of this is a lot to take in.” She waved for Tatum to follow her. Tatum obliged if nothing but to put her pack down. “I know about Kirkwall,” she stated as the climbed the stairs. “I know you went back during the rebellion for someone. Who?”

Tatum stopped cold. _It's none of your business._

“No one,” Tatum stammered. She swallowed down her anger. It was like a rock, heavy and jagged clinging inside her like it was choking her. Leliana turned around and faced her and folded her arms. Her eyebrow crooked inquisitively. Her fingers drummed on her forearm. Tatum seemed to shrink at the accusatory glare she was getting. She sighed, closed her eyes and rubbed them. “Alright. Fine. I went back to ki-.” Leliana continued to stare at her. Tatum felt more like she was drowning in her discomfort. “What do you really want?”

“I know about that,” Leliana said with a sigh. _Of course you do_. “But there is something else. You were willing to risk life and limb to go there at the height of the rebellion. There's a large gap of time between when you left Kirkwall, when you returned, and how you ended up at the Conclave.”

Tatum began to walk again. She winced at the memories. So much had been going on at that time that she'd preferred not to talk about it. Especially not then. Maybe not ever. It was safer for all parties involved if she kept her mouth shut. She had people she wanted to protect and not drag into the fight. She'd owed them that much.

When Tatum didn't respond, Leliana's arms dropped. It wasn't a sign of defeat however, it was more exasperation at not knowing. Being the spymaster, that would be annoying, but Tatum didn't care. Some things should be just left alone, called a mystery. How is this relevant anyways? I know that he's safe. I left him with someone he trusted, Tatum thought. It was self-reassurance laced with the bitter poison of doubt.

“I just had to do something,” Tatum muttered evasively. “Fair enough?” From the look on Leliana's face, she could tell she wasn't satisfied. Too many questions. “However, I'll give you this much: I took my apostasy – and phylactery - in stride, gladly, in fact. But some of us -,” Tatum looked at the starry night; her hard expression softening into one of sadness. “Some of us weren't given that option. The choice was taken from them long before. After everything I'd been shielded from, I owed him that much.” 

Mournful chords of sadness rippled through the air from the tavern. Tatum rocked her head uncomfortably. She was on the spot, laid bare for – what felt like – everyone to see. Again she felt like she was sinking in to a mire of regret. Even when the timbre of the music stream from the open door of the tavern became more lively.

“Herald – Tatum – if it was a rescue mission, I understand that,” Leliana replied.

“Alright, then,” Tatum mumbled. She saw Varric approaching with a mug in his hand. He saw her, smiled and continued to walk toward the tavern. Tatum sighed and looked Leliana in the eye. “If Cullen really needs to find me, tell him I'll be at the tavern with Varric.”

Leliana bowed slightly and wished Tatum a good night. 

Tatum walked to her small house and dropped her pack right inside the door. She hadn't planned on drinking that night, nor joining in the revels of the troops. Too many prying eyes; too much curiosity and apprehension. Yet, she found herself walking into the tavern. The minstrel's soft strains carried through the wooden shack. Tatum's eyes panned around the room. So many faces were filled with exhaustion and war weariness – a sentiment she shared with them at the very least. She saw Varric in a far corner, a small warm smirk crossed his face. She approached him, setting herself with her back facing a corner.

“It's been a hell of a day,” Varric began. He took a large swig of frothy ale and slammed the mug on the table. He turned to the bartender and belted, “Flissa, get the Herald your best dark ale you have!” He returned his attention to Tatum and his drink. “I'll put you on my tab. After the past couple of weeks you've had, I think you deserve it.”

“Why is that?” Tatum asked as she leaned back in her chair.

“Because you either have to be _the_ luckiest person in the world, or the absolutely unluckiest woman and I owe you a drink to drown yourself in,” Varric answered. He placed his mug to his lips and stared at her. “And if you are unlucky, but pull this off, because Andraste, or the Maker, or whoever you light your candle for, wills it, I need to know you so I can commemorate your deeds in a book.”

Tatum chuckled nervously. She knew Varric was an author. He wasn't subtle about it in the slightest.

“I read your _Tale of the Champion_ ,” Tatum replied. “I'm not that important, just a person in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

_I always seem to be at the wrong place at the wrong time._


	8. Chapter 8

Cullen walked the dirty path to see the last remnants of the honor guard leave for Highever as a show of solidarity for the Divine's death. It had been a long couple of weeks he'd faced. From the bickering of the remaining mages and templars that stood toe to toe with accusatory words being fired from across the camp. He'd hoped it wouldn't come to blows, Maker willing. It was just one more thing that he had to contend with in a long list of problems that he felt stifled by.

He cupped his hands around his mouth and breathed hot air to dull the sting of the biting breath coursing through the Frostbacks. Snow flurries whisked around his feet as he headed out to the training camp for one last inspection for the night. It would only take a few minutes, but was nothing more than an excuse to clear his mind of the monster urging him for another fix. _Just one more._ It was always just one more. One more death, one more fight, one more sniveling bureaucrat or noble trying to put them back in their place.

Campfires dotted the ground, illuminating rows of tents where he knew the recruits and veterans were bunking. The night was almost tranquil and soothing until his eyes lingered into the black velvet night. The beauty of it was so marred by the breach that it overshadowed the moon's pale light; stars could only be masqueraded and were diminished. It was nothing like he remembered. It was disheartening. Soul sucking. He shook his head, even the glassy ice reflected the unshakable destruction that was wrought. A reflection of destruction that was desperate and taunted them.

He ran his fingers through his hair and shivered. His flesh grew hot as a wave of pain overcame him. Just one more. It almost brought him to his knees. The nagging festering wound of withdrawal snaked its way over every nerve. I'm not going back. It was a constant struggle for him to keep his composure. Sometimes he thought it would be better to fall back. Those moments, however, he could nearly taste the desire of an overpowering thirst quenched. Satisfaction unquestionably insatiable.

“Commander, are you alright?” Josephine asked as she strolled up beside him.

She bent slightly to look at him better, but he turned away. Sweat poured down his face. He was a mess. He wasn't in the mood for decorum or any other ill news.

“What is it?” he asked with trembling lips.

“Lady Trevelyan's family,” she began. Cullen turned to her and folded his arms. More self-important people more interested in dalliances. Josephine paused briefly and pulled out the scroll and frowned. “We could have handled this in a more diplomatic fashion, Commander.”

Cullen snatched the message from her hand hard. Too hard. It startled Josephine into taking a step back from him.

“The way these nobles prattle on about things and then her family tries to use the Inquisition as some political pawn for some petty maneuvering,” Cullen spat. He read the note, his eyes bouncing over the words, unable to concentrate on the finer details. 

“I understand your frustration, Commander,” Josephine replied. “But the Trevelyan family have members within the Chantry. Regardless, these are outlier relatives by marriage, it still would be beneficial if we could have,” she cleared her throat as if trying to force the words out. “Acquiesced to certain contingencies. We need allies more than ever, you know this.”

“Maker's breath,” Cullen grumbled. “I just don't need nor want the Inquisition to be some name to be thrown around flippantly. I'm trying to protect its integrity.”

“Whose? The Herald's or the Inquisition as a whole,” Josephine queried with a sigh.

Cullen rubbed the sweat from his brow and scoffed. _What a trivial question to ask_ , he thought. Josephine stared at him, waiting for an answer. An answer he knew he was balking at. One that was far more complex than the intention of the question posed.

“Is she still in the tavern with the dwarf?” Cullen asked to avoid being put on the spot any further.

Josephine had to know he was evading the question by the glint of satisfaction in her eye. She just nodded and the two began to walk back in relative silence. Cullen's knees ached and popped from the tension in his muscles. Josephine continued to scribble notes on her pad. He was half- tempted to tell Tatum to deal with her family herself, but stopped short of making it a reality when they walked into the tavern.

It was dark. Flissa was asleep behind the counter, now. The hearth radiated warmth into the room. The once roaring fire had now become dying embers and faint flickers of flame. His eyes adjusted to the darkness as he panned the room. At a far table, he saw Varric writing feverishly in the light of a half-spent candle. Across from him was a person under a heavy cloak. A thin pale arm jutted from it holding cards between equally small frail-looking fingers.

“Varric,” Cullen whispered. “Is that - ?”

“Tatum? Yeah,” Varric replied setting his quill down and thoughtfully staring at the woman across from him. Cullen took a step towards her and pulled the cards from her hand as carefully as he could. “We were playing Wicked Grace when she just wound down to that. I think she had one too many.”

“How many did she have?” Cullen questioned as he looked over her hand and then tossed them face down on the pot.

“One,” Varric replied. Cullen and Josephine exchanged looks. _One? Just one?_ Cullen looked into the flagon and saw it looked like it had barely been drunk at all. “And don't muck the pot, damn it. I want to know if she had the better hand. I think she was bluffing.” Varric picked up the cards and flipped them over. “Well, shit. Should have let you muck it. At least then I wouldn't feel like I've been taken to the cleaners.”

“Is she alright?” Josephine asked pointing her quill at Tatum with a concerned frown.

“Oh, I don't know,” Varric answered back with a sigh. He kicked his boots up onto the table, took a drink of his ale and leaned back. “Falling out of the Fade, being accused of mass murder, and then setting the entire weight of the world on her shoulders in a relatively short amount of time seems to be doing her wonders.” His words dripped with venomous sarcasm. Cullen winced at them, but Josephine just stood there like any diplomat at a bargaining table would: quiet and reserved with contemplation lingering on her.

Varric's eyes fell on Cullen, with an amused glimmer in his eye. “However, listening to her talk in her sleep, she had some pretty – let's say – creative words about you.”

Josephine, looked at Cullen, and lifted her eyebrow curiously at him. Cullen shrugged nervously. Again he was on the spot, the center of attention. It was a place he didn't revel in. No matter how curious he was about what Tatum had said, he couldn't bring himself to pose the question. Josephine instead did for him. She seemed utterly intrigued by his past; by his and Tatum's shared past if he could even call it that. Varric, from where the former templar, stood seemed just as eager and delighted to share.

“Now, I don't know what history you two have, but murder seemed to be the intent of her mumblings. Also, concern. It's doubtful it was concern for you given she'd probably melt your face off, but someone or someones that she was worried about.” Varric switched his ankles and rested his cup on his stomach. “Before she fell asleep, she said she'd left a friend behind and she was supposed to meet up with someone else before this shit happened.” His eyes narrowed. “It makes me wonder though, what is your connection to her?” He placed his mug to his lips and began to drink.

“Kirkwall's Circle,” Cullen murmured.

Varric nearly choked on his drink and flung himself straight up in his seat. From the look on his face, it wasn't an answer he was really expecting. He coughed several times, tears running down his face as he started putting the pieces together. His eyes darted between the two, and as he regained composure, he steepled his fingers and squinted.

Cullen sighed. The tension in his neck began to increase again. Not an easy topic to go into to be sure.

“It all makes sense: her demeanor on the mountain toward you and you looked like you'd seen a ghost,” Varric snorted. “But in all the times Hawke and I were there, we never saw her.”

“You wouldn't have,” Cullen replied. “Before Meredith had cracked down on the mages, she would have been in studies and working with her mentor.” Cullen rubbed the ache in his neck and shifted his weight from one leg to the other. “She was one of the mages that had escaped just before the annulment of the Circle. We never found out how she managed it, but once we did an inventory we found that her phylactery was gone.” His eyes fell to Tatum. Maybe he was worried, maybe he couldn't get the point across that he was sorry. “Meredith was furious, obviously. Lady Tr-, The H-, Ta -” He began to stumble over his words. _Decorum and respect for my “commanding officer,”_ he thought.

“You don't have to stand on ceremony right now. I doubt she much cares for the titles,” Varric muttered.

Cullen couldn't bring himself to say anymore. He felt trapped. Foiled by his indiscretions. He'd treated mages poorly and with contempt. And Tatum became the product of it. His own hatred and fears, his own insecurities, had put his charges in harm's way. And Maker knows what unspeakable things she had to endure at the hands of those under his command. _The split lip. Numerous accusations of rape from other mages. I let them down. I let her down. My job was not just to protect the populace, but them as well. I failed. And she has every right not to trust me._

Josephine turned to Cullen and asked, “Do you think we can get her into her bed?”

Cullen slowly nodded, as awkward as he thought carrying the Herald of Andraste would be, he was willing to do it.

“I don't know if that's such a good idea,” Varric warned as he stood. “She's holding a dagger under the table. Too many years of having to hide who you are tends to make you a tad paranoid.”

“How do you know?” Josephine queried.

“She wouldn't need a dagger,” Cullen argued as he drew closer to his sleeping charge.

“No? She's got her back to a corner where she can see all the entrances and she's a mage, what is she going to do?” Varric snapped. “I think for the first time since she's been out of the Circle she's actually slept, but still the edge of fear and mistrust remains.” 

Josephine walked to the door and held it open. Varric blew out the candle and set it down on the table and started for the door. Cullen hoisted Tatum into his arms. She was so light he could barely feel her. He took one step and heard steel hit the wooden floor in front of him. His heart skipped a beat. _The dwarf was right_ , he thought.

Varric came to him and bent over. He picked up what had dropped and showed it to him.

“I told you. You're lucky she's out or she'd probably be making her dreams a reality by now,” Varric scolded as he tucked the blade in his belt and strolled out the door.

Cullen continued to walk, taking slow diligent steps. This time Josephine didn't follow him. He pressed the door open with his shoulder and made his way to her bed. He delicately placed her on the spread and started for the door.

“I'm sorry I couldn't save you,” Tatum mumbled as she turned away from him.

_Me, too._


	9. Chapter 9

Tatum woke up to the sound of a thump. With her fist hurting, she shot up in bed stunned. Her eyes were wide with fear. Her heart fluttered as her eyes – not fully adjusted – darted around the room. She shook her hand and tried to rub the pain from her knuckles. They were red, angry. She thought maybe she'd hit the wall in her sleep, a symptom of her nightmares, but stopped when she heard muttering at her feet.

There she saw Cullen sitting on the floor dazed. He was rubbing his chin with a look of shock on his face. Tatum scurried out of bed and to his side. The side of his face matched the inflamed redness that was beset on her knuckles.

“Maker,” she breathed. She jumped to her feet, still in her nightgown and ran outside. The ground was frozen. It pricked her toes as she went around and scooped up a handful of snow from the ground and hurried back inside. She didn't look at Cullen, now standing in the center of the room, watching her dart around her room. “I didn't know,” she stammered as she found a cloth and wrapped the packed snow in it.

“I should have been more careful,” Cullen replied. He leaned back when she tried to apply the pack to his injury. Tatum recoiled, almost like she'd been defeated. He held out his hand to accept it and she set it down. He placed it to his jaw and grunted. “I just came to tell you, that we need to speak with you shortly about going to Val Royeaux.”

“Why were you the one sent? It could have just as easily been Cassandra,” Tatum remarked as she sat on the bed and pulled her boots on. She was silent as she worked her buckles and then grabbed her coat from a nearby hook. As she slipped her arms through the sleeves, she looked up at Cullen with regret. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Cullen said with a shrug. “I've been dealt worse.” He began to leave and stopped short. “I'll meet you outside. Cassandra seems very agitated right now. You don't want to keep her waiting.”  
He left her to her thoughts.

Tatum felt terrible for what she had done. Granted he deserved it and if that was the only bite at the apple she was going to get then she should enjoy it for what it was worth. She fixed her hair and sighed. She knew what today meant: the long journey to Val Royeaux to reconcile with the remaining mothers of the Chantry. It was a plan that she didn't relish. In fact, it made her ill equipped. She'd told herself that she wasn't a Herald and the Chantry was denouncing her, which was fine. 

She walked outside and saw blood on the snow beside her door. She shook her head. She'd hit him harder than she thought. But he hadn't said anything. _Maybe he didn't want to worry me_ , she thought. She walked up the steps. Shouts and arguments wafted on the air, quickening her step toward the Chantry. As she rounded the corner, she saw Cullen standing between the mages and templars. Accusations and threats were issued. Cullen looked like he wanted to put both sides down just to easy the tension in camp.

Tatum walked up to Cullen and stood between the arguing parties with him. A mage had tried to make a threatening jump, his case bolstered by the templars failing to do their job. Tatum put her hand on his chest and shook her head.

“He's not worth it,” Tatum reminded her fellow mage. “You understand?”

“But the Knight-Commander -” the mage argued.

“That's not my title any longer,” Cullen snapped angrily. “Get out of here. All of you.”

The crowd slowly dispersed. Through the remaining throng of spectators and those that outright refused came Chancellor Roderick. Tatum cocked her head. _What is he going to say now to stir the pot_ , she thought. She folded her arms and listened to the tirade and insults being made against her. Cullen maintained his composure, but kept watching her reaction out of the corner of his eye. 

“Does he have to be here,” Tatum questioned with a sigh.

“Your templar at least knows his place when it comes to chain of command,” Roderick smuggly stated. “I just want to find out what happened at the Temple.”

“No, you want to use her as a scapegoat,” Cullen argued back. “I won't allow that. And neither will the rest of the Inquisition.”

“They may not have a say,” Roderick pressed.

Tatum rubbed her eyes and shrugged. “Just make sure this jackass doesn't start a riot,” she whispered. She shot the chancellor a look and then returned her attention to Cullen. “I'll see you inside.”

She shut the door quickly behind her. She wanted as much space between her and Chancellor Roderick's inane threats and insults. Cassandra, Leliana, Josephine, and Cullen all thought she was innocent. The Mark – the only providence of her being “chosen” - had granted her a little leeway. But being chosen for her was a sickening notion. _Divine providence, Andraste's chosen, whatever they want to call it_ , she pondered. All the names meant little to her. 

The Chantry's main room was empty all except for Leliana knelt in prayer beside a pew. Tatum sat beside her and looked at the intricate wood carvings that decorated the room. The brass censors glistened in the sunlight. Leliana continued to pray. Tatum continued to contemplate.

“Do you pray, Herald?” Mother Giselle asked coming from a side room and sitting down beside Tatum.

“No,” Tatum replied. She glanced at Leliana. The spymaster had stopped and was now looking at her. “I never thought about it really.”

“You're here in the house of the Maker and have not felt the tugging to do so,” Giselle questioned. She folded her hands in her lap and silently muttered to herself. “These people – all of them – have hope that you were sent by the Maker in their darkest hours.”

“If that helps them, that's fine,” Tatum remarked. She shifted uncomfortably. “But I have doubts.”

“And that is fine,” Leliana finally replied. “We don't know when the Maker set this into motion. It could be so far back that we might not even notice His hand in this.”

Tatum sat silently. Her fingers toiled at the the hem of her jacket. _I thought there was supposed to be meeting_ , she thought to herself. _I already told them I wasn't the Herald. That if people wanted to believe that, fine. I doubt it's that simple._

Cassandra and Josephine came out of the ambassador's office. Cassandra did in fact look very annoyed and Josephine – while putting on a brave face – seemed less than amused. The exterior door to the Chantry opened and in came Cullen. He looked about as flustered as Tatum felt. Tatum stood up and began to walk toward the War Room. She turned back to her advisers and frowned.

“If we're going to Val Royeaux, let's get this over with. We're not going to get the blighted hole in the sky by politicing,” she snapped.

Cassandra and the advisers all looked at each other and hurried into the room behind her. It was the first time she'd found herself empowered enough to put her foot down. The sooner they got this done the better. Then the arguments of mages and templars can be made. An ending for the rebellion was more important to Tatum anyways. _If the fighting stops, then I should be able to get a hold of my friends._


	10. Chapter 10

Cullen approached the stables among the throng of people making their way into Haven. Cassandra and Tatum had left for Val Royeaux a week before only to return on the wings of more bad news. He'd heard that there were problems – there always were – when they had arrived. Tatum dismounted from her horse and handed the reins to the horsemaster. She just gave him a slight glance before speaking with a mousy elven woman who had approached her. Cassandra came up beside her as well followed by an elegantly clad woman.

“Commander Cullen,” Cassandra called to him. “This is Madame Vivienne.” Cullen bowed slightly and saw the elf fold her arms. She appeared not amused by the show of respect. Cassandra looked over at her with an annoyed scowl. “And this is - .”

“Sera,” the elf interrupted. She approached Cullen and stopped a few inches from him. She leaned into him. Inspecting him. Cullen was rigid, uncomfortable. He looked over at Tatum who had a little smirk on her face. _Maker, is she's enjoying this?_ he thought. Sera snorted and turned to look at Tatum. “Bit of a jackboot, innit?” Tatum folded her arms and shifted her weight. Her eyebrow crooked almost amused by on the spot he was being put. _She really is._ “Gotta have one of 'em, I guess for the glowing one, I mean. He's your commander, so I guess it's okay, right?” Sera took a step back and sized him up again. “For now.”

Cullen took a step back and cleared his throat. He had come out to speak with Cassandra about what they'd heard about the templars, but he hadn't expected the almost sadistic amusement Tatum had allowed. It probably wasn't going to be the last time he'd have to endure it. Avoidance, while optimal, didn't mean anything when Cassandra mentioned that they were here to help.

Tatum adjusted her pack and began to walk. “I'll see you guys inside in a bit. We need to discuss the end game to this rebellion.” She brushed a few black strands from her face and smiled.

Sera hurried to catch up to her. “Bit of a poncy git, yeah?”

Cullen heard Tatum let out a stifled giggle. He was nearly beside himself. _Why is she acting this way_ , he thought. All the while Cassandra filled him in more detail about what had happened with the Revered Mother and the Lord Seeker. He could only watch Tatum walk away. He didn't understand. Was she playing a game? After the first bit of kindness she'd unexpectedly shown him after her impromptu right hook, she'd flipped the script again on him. Like she was deliberately putting distance between a genuine truce. Maybe she didn't want one. They were barely on speaking terms as it was. And the cold air that was more frigid than coldest Frostback winds she carried, had basically marked her as a veritable ice princess.

“Are you alright?” Cassandra asked when she realized he wasn't listening. “How have you been doing since you stopped?”

Cullen frowned. When Tatum wasn't around the stress wasn't nagging as much for a fix. At night, however, the not knowing about her well-being made it difficult to sleep. _She's not my charge_ , he'd told himself every night she'd been out in the field. It was a convenient catch twenty-two. He needed her to stay alive since she was the only one who could close the Breach – or so Solas kept insisting – and the rifts that had begun appearing across Ferelden and Orlais. Yet, he also needed her to stay alive for his own sake.

Being that she was the only person he'd known – to the best of his ability – in Kirkwall's Circle, he had some deep seated affinity for her. Familiarity, on his part, bred latent commiseration. Yet, she bred contempt. So many questions he wished to posit, yet knew she wouldn't say anything. Like it was a game. No, he didn't deserve to know all of her secrets, her answers were always evasive and distant, like she had been talking about someone else. That's in the few brief conversations they'd had, even in the Circle.

 _If lying to myself makes the pain go away even for a moment_ , he pondered, yet stopped. His convenient lies that he'd forced on to himself to face. Yes, it was easier to not have to face her, but was just as difficult when she wasn't around where he knew she was safe.

“It's been on and off,” Cullen finally replied when Tatum, Sera, and Madame Vivienne disappeared from view. “The pain is manageable more.”

Cassandra glanced in the direction where his eyes refused to leave and uncomfortably scoffed. “Have you told the Herald yet?”

“No,” Cullen murmured. “It wouldn't make a difference.”

“How do you know?” Cassandra questioned as she walked in front of him and stared him down. “You are doing well. If you let her know, maybe she would be more... receptive to your words. She wouldn't see you as a templar that once held her leash.”

Cullen shook his head. His eyebrows furrowed. Another headache. Another vulnerability. “I haven't had her _leash_ for a long time, Lady Cassandra. She made sure of that.” He scuffed the ground with his boot and sighed. “She won't care, because she doesn't trust me. I can't force her to.”

“Then let her see that you are trying, Commander,” Cassandra's tone changed to more of a demand. “I understand you two are at odds and she's more likely to be antagonistic towards you. Maker willing, you both will come to terms with this before you both sunder the world before the Breach does.”

He clenched his fist. He knew what he was going to do. He'd pull her aside. Away from everyone where no one can find them. If they were going to have it out, then so be it. Cassandra was right. They needed to find more common footing than just the Breach. They didn't know how long the Inquisition was going to be around for, which meant they were going to have to be around each other a lot for the time being. At least they would know where each other was coming from, be brutally honest. Tatum could say the most vile, hateful words she needed to until he had wrung the anger from her. Not for his sake, but for hers.

_And tonight I'll finally know what I need to know._

*****

The nightly patrols were changing shift when Cullen had finally finished reading the daily reports. Tatum's family drama had cooled for now. A messenger bird had been sent back telling him that the honor guard sent to Highever would be returning to Haven in a couple of days. Scouts were reporting new rifts popping up in the Hinterlands, but the fighting between the templars and the mages had subsided, clearing the road to Redcliffe. It was the only bit of good news he'd received all week. Less casualties were being reported and more refugees were coming to Haven to pick a blade in defense of the Herald and the demons still laying terror across the land.

The night air was crisp with pockets of warmth scattered from the tavern. More jovial banter and jaunty pub songs trickled out. He envied his troops sometimes. The camaraderie, the merriment between bands of brothers and sisters all those things he'd once had were now relegated to a nightmare shrouded memory. He wondered sometimes if he'd get something like that again. However, business always came first long before pleasure when leading men and women possibly to their deaths.

He warmed his hands as a soft flurry of snow began to fall. Large flakes kissed his rugged cheeks as he entered the camp. Soldiers were huddled around campfires trying to stave off the cold. A couple were straddling a bench playing Wicked Grace. When they saw him approach they jumped to attention, but he just told them to continue. _They are off duty. Let them unwind. They know the routine_ , he told himself. He walked to the lake's edge and scanned across the glassy ice. He needed to find Tatum. He'd seen her come this way not fifteen minutes before. 

Tatum had left flustered. The advisers couldn't agree on what to do. He wanted them to see the templars to try and gain their trust, but Leliana and Josephine wanted an alliance with the mages. And Tatum? Tatum just listened to them bicker. Nothing was accomplished, she could barely get a word in edgewise with them. Until she'd slammed her fist on to the table shutting everyone in the room down. They could only look at her as she stared at the map in disbelief and muttering: _“We're this disorganized now. You're not advising me on anything. You're having hissy fits. It's a wonder we don't trip over our damn selves just trying to talk and walk at the same time. It's not heretical; it's inept.”_

“Accumulated ineptitude,” Cullen mumbled to himself as he focused across the lake toward a dilapidated dock. “Neither one has done anything to stop this. And we're all continuing it from the sidelines in a dark room in some backwater icy town with barely a pot to piss in.” He kept mouthing her words to himself. They were failing to do their jobs. Failing her. She just wanted some peace and quiet to think. It was her decision in the end anyways. Whatever she chose, he would have to accept it, regardless.

He saw movement and a small flicker of light near the dock. It had to be Tatum. He walked around the lake and saw that Tatum wasn't there. He sighed. Small boot prints trampled the snow around him. He followed them to a large outcropping and there they stopped. His eyes lifted up the side until he saw the soles of her boots facing him. He walked up to the top and stood. The silvery glint of steel spun on its needle-like point atop the rock. She looked like she was watching the reflection dance across the rocks and snow in flashes of bright white.

“Did you need something, Commander?” Tatum asked, her tone soft. She didn't look back toward him. She just kept spinning the blade round and around. Her face was strained as if too many thoughts were running through her mind at once. Cullen nervously cleared his throat. _I thought this would be easier_ , he thought and shook his head. “That would be a 'no'?”

“No. There was something I wanted to speak with you about, Herald,” Cullen replied.

The blade's spinning abruptly stopped. She let out a sigh, her shoulders shuddering with her breathing. Small clouds of steam danced around the snow flakes that fell around her. Her head lowered, obscuring her face from his view.

“Do you really believe I'm Andraste's chosen, Cullen,” she asked. She sounded sad now. Like every ounce of strength she had was put into not cracking. “Honestly.”

“Honestly?” Cullen began. He rubbed the back of his neck nervously. _Andraste's mercy_ , he thought as Tatum turned to face him. Her large eyes stared up at him. They sparkled in the light of the Breach. The greens and blues were more pronounced. Her porcelain skin nearly matched the snow. She was beautiful. Demure. _Stop_. “I do.” Her eyes slipped from his. “I know you doubt it.” Tatum slowly nodded in agreement. “That doesn't mean either of us are wrong.” She chewed on her lip. She was listening to what he was saying. A strange sense of accomplishment overcame him, but he knew under that intense stare there was anger. Denial. All such things that kept them at odds. “Tatum.” His tone was cold now. He was becoming defensive. _Why won't she look at me?_ She blinked several times. Slowly, her eyes closed. She let out a heavy sigh and glanced up at him. That fire he knew was there flickered dangerously now. “Come with me.”

He held out his hand, but she refused to take it. She dusted herself off and followed him down the rocks, dagger in hand. He trusted her not to use it on him. Not then, not with his back turned. She was better than that. If he knew her like he thought he did, she'd want to look him in the eye.


	11. Chapter 11

The snow came to Tatum's knees as she followed Cullen away from Haven. Nighttime zephyrs blew flurries of snow around them. Her teeth chattered, fingers numb even through her gloves. Cullen had said nothing to her as they had walked. The perpetual silence was unsettling. She kept her eyes glued on him. Paranoia and uncertainty hunted her like a beast. Her fist tightened around the grip of her dagger. _One misstep. One choice. One resolution. Don't give me any reason to -._

Her thought stopped when Cullen stopped and looked behind them. Tatum did the same. From where they stood the campfires were small enough to match the clusters of stars above them. She turned her gaze to Cullen who was now looking down at her. Tatum scoffed and shook her head. 

“Is there a reason you dragged me out here?” Tatum spat.

Cullen didn't say anything. He started to circle around her, his face stoic as he began to drag his foot through the snow. She followed him, confused by what he was doing and why he was doing it. She folded her arms; the blade of her dagger slid cleanly through the crook of her elbow and rested just along her ribs. When he came full circle, he stopped and stared at her. He looked like he was trying to come up with the words he wanted to express, but was having a problem stringing them together. 

They were in a deadlock. Eyes staring into each other, examining each others weaknesses, then he matched her stance. Tatum was becoming uncomfortable. Not just from the cold, but the bitter anger that she felt creeping up her spine.

“We need to work this out,” Cullen finally said. “I can't constantly keep worrying about the possibility of a dagger in my back.”

“So, I'm – what? - a liability?” Tatum snapped. “Have I not been trying hard enough for you?” Cullen just stood there. Again, he wasn't showing his cards. She was growing concerned. No, scared. Something she didn't like admitting to herself. It wasn't just anger and disgust that had kept her going since she'd left Kirkwall's Circle. It was terror. It was always wondering when the armored hand of a templar would come down on her shoulder and she'd be back there. Against her will. Left to languish. And die. _No?_ “Is it not good enough?!”

“Tatum.” Cullen's voice was soft. He let out a sigh and took a step towards her. “I need you to trust me. We need to trust each other.” Tatum took a step backward. Her eyes shot to his feet. She felt trapped. “Do we need a templar – mage relationship to make this work?” He took another step. Her eyes widened; lips parted as her jaw went slack. “If that's what needs to happen, then that is what it will be. I'd prefer it not.” 

She tried to move, but her legs refused. 

_Don't scream._

“You wouldn't,” Tatum stammered. “You don't know what it's like! You don't care! What effort have you made to make me feel safe?!” Her arms fell to her sides. She wanted to be numb. Not show her fear, not let herself slip. “You - .” She shook her head. Her fist tightened around the grip of her blade till her fingers ached. It was her only way to fight, to defend herself, when she'd left the Circle. She didn't want to be found out. It was her friend's blade in the Templar Order. She'd stayed with his family outside of Kirkwall on some farmhold that could barely turn a profit. Only leaving after several months to return to the city when the mages rebelled. “You wouldn't understand.” 

“Then make me, Tatum,” Cullen growled. “You made it abundantly clear how you felt back in Kirkwall with that blighted letter you left.” Tatum scoffed. Cullen's eyes narrowed. His eyes fell on the blade and then looked her dead in the eye. “You don't have the courage to say it to my face now. You're a mage. You don't need some tiny dagger to do your dirty work.”

Tatum's eyes lowered. “You're right. I don't. But what protection did magic lend me when night after night I had to worry that my cell's door would open. That it would be my turn. When it was my turn. It didn't matter. It wasn't of any use.” She heard Cullen sigh. “There's nothing you can say. The laughing. The pain. Taking it for someone more defenseless.” She threw the dagger at her feet and made a fist. She felt the heat. It would have been a snap of her fingers to immolate him where he stood. “I don't need the dagger.”

“Pick it up,” Cullen ordered.

“Why?” She snapped. Her head cocked sharply. “You said I didn't need it. This is obviously what you want, right?”

“Pick. It. Up,” he repeated more forcefully. “You've had this grudge for a long time. Why let you kill me by the means you'd already set forth.”

“Utilitarianism. I don't have to hide it anymore,” Tatum murmured.

“Then why didn't you kill me when you had the chance,” Cullen argued. Tatum froze. She felt the blood rush from her face. She shook her head. _No._ She was growing sick. “You think I didn't know you came back to Kirkwall?”

She picked up the blade, unwilling to back down now. “Do you know how many friends – Templars and mages alike – I had to kill just to find you?” Her heart began to break, her voice cracking ever so slightly. “I was so close and I knew I would have died in the process, but I was alright with that. I'd already failed so many people.” Her voice drifted to nothing. Tears welled in her eyes. _Don't you dare cry. Don't you give him what he wants. Don't let him see. Don't prove the words you'd heard before. Corrupt. Worthy of destruction._

“What stopped you?” Cullen asked. 

Tatum looked at him. He was stoic. Not a flicker of care or concern resided on his visage. He folded his arms. He wanted her to answer, this she knew, but searching for the words while drowning in memories made her hate him even more.

“I don't know,” Tatum stammered.

Cullen shook his head. She could see he was angry. “Yes, you do.”

“I really don't. Stop!” she pleaded.

“You are a living weapon. You could have taken me out at any time. Why didn't you? If you had so much hatred and an ax to grind, what stayed your hand?!” Cullen pressed. Tatum's breathing became ragged; her head swam. She shook her head begging with her eyes for him to stop. She didn't just go back to Kirkwall to kill him. She had to get Maddox to a safe place. She had to find Ser Darius – the templar that had gotten her out of Kirkwall – and make sure they were alright. “Maker's breath, answer me!”

“I – I – I couldn't. I just couldn't,” she sulked. “What was it going to do? Was it going to bring my friends back? Was it going to cure Maddox of his tranquility?” With shuddering breath, she swept her black bangs from her eyes. “But you wouldn't know anything about that, would you?” She threw the blade at him. _All of this could have been avoided if you'd heeded everyone's warning._ He dodged it and marched over to where it landed. He looked it over and rested the blade in his hand. “I took care of Maddox, when I found him. I left him with someone I trusted. We'd both agreed that I couldn't stay in the city and Maddox would have slowed me down.” She watched his grip tighten around the blade. His fist shook angrily as he glared at her. “So I left, promising that I'd meet up with them soon and joined a templar who took me out of the city. We split up once we reached Amaranthine. We'd meet at Kinloch Hold. I waited, but he never showed. I couldn't just stay. Too many people were dying. I wanted my life back. So when I head about the Conclave, I joined them.”

“Maddox?” Cullen muttered. “I remember him.”

“Yeah, the same one that ushered me away from you when I was little. The same one who defended me from those in your command. The same one you should of just killed instead of destroying his mind!” Tatum yelled. She pointed her finger accusingly at him. Cullen's jaw clenched. “It's your fault!” Before she could continue he threw the blade at her feet. It stuck out of the ground nestled along the toe of her boot. She knelt down. A single tear ran down her chapped cheeks and whispered. “It's my fault, too.” 

She picked it up and turned to walk away. She was done. There was nothing more she had to say. _He can burn in the deepest parts of the Void for all I care now._ She stopped when she saw their shadows cast upon the snow. Cullen had his arm in front him, blade in hand and it was pointed at her.

“What do I have to do to get you to trust me?” Cullen asked with exasperation.

Tatum's shoulders slumped. Her head fell to her chest. “You could fall on your sword.” She turned her head towards him to see his expression. “There is nothing – _nothing_ – you could do to make me trust you. I'm not some fly you can pull the wings off of and get me to feel the way you want me to.” Cullen lowered his sword and rubbed his neck anxiously. “I will not let you treat me like some lesser being that needs to be monitored. I will not see you as anything other than the templar that terrified me and did nothing! I doubt you could apologize enough to make me believe it.” 

“I am sorry,” Cullen remarked.

“No. You're not. You don't know how,” she barked.

In a fit of rage, she went after him. She was crumbling. No matter what she said. No matter what _he_ said it wouldn't have changed anything. She was close enough to strike when he dropped his sword and they went into the snow together. Her face was numb, but her fingers were warm. So warm and damp. It hurt to breathe. _I -._ Her hands began to shake. Sweet metallic juice filled her mouth.

“Tatum?” Cullen uttered. He pulled his arm from under her and rolled her on to her back. She only saw stars. Swirls of them dancing over head. “Andraste's Mercy!”

She looked at his face, his eyes were wide with fear. The darted around her and she felt her finger slip. Hard metal. Penetrating. Frigidly cold and sticky. She lifted her head slightly and saw the dagger protruding out her side. Her head fell back against his arm and for the first time in what felt like an eternity, she smiled. 

“Don't.”

Cullen's hand was on hers. Not armored, but rough, rugged skin. Warm. He was squeezing her fingers. “You'll be alright.” He pulled his hand from hers and began searching for something.

“Don't. You just need me to close the Breach,” she gurgled.

“That's not true,” he argued weakly. He placed a bottle to her lips and tossed it away. “I have to get this out of you. Try- try not to move.” Tatum protested with a shake of her head. But he wasn't looking at her anymore. She felt herself choking. Dizzying darkness as his words started to ring in her ears into nothingness. She felt a sharp jerk and she gasped. Warm blood trickled out of her mouth. “You'll be alright, Tatum,” his voice echoed. The last thing she heard before drifting into unconsciousness were: “I have my reasons. They're not all 'utilitarian.'”


	12. Chapter 12

Cullen stared at the map of Thedas. So much work had been put forth to see that Tatum had gone to speak with the mages. What he had heard was not good. So far, Grand Enchanter Fiona wasn't in charge of the rebel mages anymore. A magister was. It was a sickening notion that couldn't be ignored. As much as he pressed Tatum to seek out the Templars, having Tevinter on their doorstep was something they couldn't ignore.

It was one of the few times that he'd agreed with Leliana, if only from a strategic standpoint. Tatum wasn't going alone. He wouldn't allow it. She was too value to them. To him. No arguments could be made to make her stay. Even Leliana's assurances of safety did little to stop his worrying thoughts from interrupting his day to day routine.

Tatum hadn't spoken to him since that night. All questions she'd asked her advisers were directed at others while she stared him down. He felt out of place. It was their secret. One she promised him never to tell.

It was just another event that had invaded his nightmares since that night. _“Fall on your sword.”_ If only it had been that simple. Part of him was dumbstruck that she had lashed out and for him to go on the defensive. It was him that forced the blade into her. He thought she'd fallen on her blade. Recounting how he'd blocked the blow and swung her arm around. In a moment that seemed to freeze like the air around them. 'Twas a bitter sense of irony that he'd found himself watching her drown, pierced by her own blade after she'd tried to kill him. And the blood on pristine snow just accented the sanguine. There was so much. So much. Listening to her gag and choke. _Maker, I almost killed you._ And for the briefest of moments, he was lost. Defeated. Scared of what had happened. Scared of what he might lose.

Yet now, she was gone to see Alexius with her entourage to win over the mages. His eyes fell on the note he'd sent to her. It worried him. Such glowing recommendations. How he was “delighted they could finally meet and would like to have another under more intimate circumstances” and how he “implored her to come for a more earnest conversation about the mages in Redcliffe.” 

He's going to kill her the very first chance he gets and I'm not there to stop it.

“Are you alright,” Cassandra asked from the War Room door.

“I'm just -,” Cullen started. He crumpled the letter tightly in his fist and leaned over the table. “Thinking. We've been outplayed.”

“I can see that, Commander,” Cassandra remarked as she came up to the table and rested her fists on it. “She's in good hands. Leliana has scouts ready to report back to us the moment things go south.” She let out a sigh and pressed her finger tip to one of the pins jammed into the table top. “However I also have my own concerns about this mission we have sent her on.”

“What about the Tevinter that came traipsing in here? Can we trust him?” Cullen asked. His eyes lingered over the map. _Ostwick. Kirkwall. Amaranthine. Kinloch Hold. Haven. Redcliffe. Honnleath._ “How do we know he isn't spying for the magister?”

“If what the mage says is true, they had a falling out. Even he seemed concerned about this 'time magic' as he put it,” Cassandra answered. She became quiet and then looked him in the eye. “I pray she'll be alright.”

“That Warden should see to it. And the dwarf seems to have taken a shine to her,” Cullen muttered. He pushed off the table and circled around it to face Cassandra. He was exhausted. “Lady Trevelyan's life is in the Maker's hands now.” And there's not a damn thing I can do about it.

He placed his hand on the door and frowned. This wasn't right. It was his job to protect her. Even though he trusted Leliana to do her job and keep the Herald safe, he felt like he was left in the cold. He doubted she would even want him there to take the blows for her.

“Did you speak with her,” Cassandra asked softly. “Did you tell her about what we spoke about?”

“No,” Cullen murmured.

“What happened out there that night? When you both came back, you were both different and since then - ,” Cassandra prodded. Cullen looked over his shoulder at the Nevarran and scowled. “At the very least did you find out what you needed to know.”

“More than I wanted to.” He opened the door. His stomach was all a-flutter. His fingers itched for combat. His blood screamed for lyrium. He grew flush. Hot. Beads of sweat formed on his brow. “I'm going to finish up my work and check on my men. Maker willing, we'll hear back from them shortly.”

*****

He swung his sword at the training dummy. It swayed back and forth with each strike. He was infuriated. Frustrated and in pain. Of all the things he had wanted to accomplish in his life, the best he'd done was walk away. He walked away from Cara. Walked away from the Order. Walked away from Kirkwall. So much dedication, he felt had been squandered.

He took a swing at the dummy's midsection. Flashes of Cara's black eyes stared down at him. Taunting me with the one thing I could never have. It bounced back at him. It was provoking him. What he missed most about her was the way she'd looked at him when she'd left the Circle. Both times. The first at her conscription he'd come running down the hall in search of the blood mage and found Cara walking toward the door with the Grey Warden. She'd turned back to him. _“I have to go, Cullen. I'm sorry. About Jowan. Please forgive me.”_ She swiveled her foot around on her toe. She couldn't even look at him. She was ashamed. She had tried to stop the blood mage, but it was all for nothing.

He sliced at his opponent. Small tears exposed flaxen straw in it.

The second time, was when she had come back. He had been so cruel to her. His words, projected at her, were never meant for her. He was accusatory. Violent. She wasn't there for what had happened. She couldn't know. Yet, she was a mage. She was capable of such atrocities. Even when she fell to her knees to calm him from inside his prison, he wouldn't have it. He was relentless even after they'd come down and Knight-Commander Greagoir had been satisfied with Cara's performance. She hadn't bothered to listen to him. And in those moments, he thought her idealism would get them all killed. Again, before she left, she sought him out, this time in the library where she saw him staring at one of his deceased friends. _“I'm sorry I wasn't here sooner, Cullen.”_ She placed her hand on his shoulder, her lips trembling with remorse. _“I wish I could have saved them.”_ He didn't answer her. He wrenched his shoulder from her touch and turned from her. He ordered her to leave. All she did was sigh. Her good bye: her footsteps echoing through the blood streaked library. He never saw her after that.

“I pushed her away,” he thought with a thrust. 

His swings became more wild. More violent. His hand hurt from the tension. His muscles screamed for a break. But he couldn't. He hated himself then. It was simpler that way. Through no fault of Tatum, or Cara, or Arikah.

“Arikah,” he muttered to himself between harsh puffs of air. “I wronged you too, Champion. I should have seen the signs.” He shield bashed the training dummy and took a step back. He cracked his neck and began again. “Yet, you left. I don't know why. I did try.” _I felt used._

“Looking for a sparring partner, Commander?” Iron Bull's gravelly voice asked. “These dummies could only help so much. You look like you need a challenge to sort your shit out.”

Cullen stopped and thought for a moment. His eyes stung from sweat as he stared at the hulking Qunari towering over him. He looked bemused, his one eye flashing with fire. A small little sneer crossed his face. Cullen nodded slowly. A challenge might help. 

Bull waved him to a small clearing and picked up a shield and sword. Cullen tried to relax his aching muscles before the Qunari swung at him. He didn't have much time before the behemoth's swing swiped across his midsection and bounced off Cullen's shield.

“You're going to have to work harder than that, Commander,” Iron Bull taunted. 

Cullen lunged forward.

 _“I'm not one of your charges anymore!”_ He knew this. It pained him to have to remind himself. Tatum's hazel eyes were so cold. She looked trapped. Every time they spoke she looked like she was being held against her will. He wanted her to be comfortable. To feel safe. He wasn't going to hurt her. Yet, when she did attempt to be kind, let her guard down a little bit around him, he'd pushed her away. Made her insecure. _“There's nothing you could do to get me to trust you!”_ He knew that now. He couldn't show her physically how he'd changed. How his outlook and cruelty had diminished in regards to mages.

Iron Bull dodged one swing and then another. Cullen dropped his shield. Blood lust and frustration had him nearly spitting through clenched teeth.

 _“Don't. You're just going to use me.”_ There was so much blood that night. He was scared. Far more scared than he thought was possible. After watching his friends be murdered and the Rite of Annulment in Kirkwall, he thought he'd find himself numb. But this girl. She'd begged for death. Wished for him to allow it. She still reminded him sometimes of this small, frail little girl that would stare up at him and try to make conversation. 

_“Night after night I had to worry that my cell's door would open.  That it would be my turn.  When it was my turn.”_ The once naive girl who had at one point trusted him, had been destroyed. By not doing anything, he was as guilty as those that had sought her and those like her out. _Why didn't she ever say anything?_ His mind froze for a split second, searching for the answer he already knew. _Because I wouldn't believe her._ He had turned a blind eye to many an indiscretion calling them speculations and rumors from whining mages. She was beautiful though, even in her hatred. She still had the child-like stare and the smile that she'd tried to share so many years before. She wasn't a little girl anymore. Yet she had so much more to learn, that he wanted to be a part of. _One day, I'll tell her the truth. But not now, not when I care about her and can't do anything about it._

“Whoa, slow down there boss!” Iron Bull chortled. The big horned qunari was gasping for air. Cullen blinked. He felt like he was in a daze. Every muscle trembled. He tasted blood in his mouth and the harsh sting of a split in his lip. He shielded his eyes from the sun and saw where they were standing. They had moved several feet away from where they had started, with Bull's back now pressed into a rock face. Bull's face was bloody, a new wound had slashed squarely across his chest. Yet, he didn't seem to mind. “Are you doing better?”

“Not really,” Cullen answered sheathing his sword. He spit into the snow. Red flashes splattered against the dirty snow. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Iron Bull remarked with a shrug. “That was some good sparring though. Thanks, Commander.” The Qunari began to walk back to where the rest of the Chargers were resting and stopped. “You and Tatum will be alright, ya know.” Cullen's eyebrow quirked. _Does everyone know?_ “Don't look so shocked. You kept saying her name while you were swinging.” He folded his arms and cocked his head. “Ya know, a tussle between the sheets tends to fix those kinds of ailments.” He gave a sharp nod and a wink.

“Maker's breath,” Cullen muttered nervously. “It's not like that.”

“Oh? That's not what it looks like,” Iron Bull pointed out. “And beside, you never know, a lot of trysts start out as enemies. At least that's what Val Royeaux taught me.” The Qunari shook his head with a small chuckle and thumbed behind him. “You better get yourself to the healer. You at least want to look somewhat presentable for when she gets back.”

Cullen just stared at him. He didn't know what to say. Iron Bull laughed and told him good evening. Cullen rubbed his hands and started back for the Chantry. He didn't care for the mocking, and trysts as Bull described were nothing more than a means to a political end. He wiped the blood dripping off his chin and walked into his shared quarters. _She'll be back. She'll be safe. And I'll be here for as long as she'll have me._


	13. Chapter 13

**Chapter 13**

Redcliffe Castle wasn't anything Tatum was prepared for. Graciously accepting Alexius' invitation, while denying him the privacy he so desperately yearned for hung heavily on her thoughts. He taunted her about still accepting, but she was more intrigued by what Dorian had told her about time magic and was worried about these people he called the Venetori. Tevinter Supremacists were two words she'd never though she'd hear in the same sentence. Sure, they existed. There wasn't a doubt in her mind about that, but the rub being that one was in so close a proximity and now in control of a town that was a gateway to Orlais, so to speak.

She had been vexed by the idea, just as the advisers had been, but she didn't let it on. It was more subtle amusement that she'd had watching Cullen choke out that they had been outplayed. _Another rub to get under his skin, however it had nothing to truly do with me, so no one's the wiser_ , she thought as she bent over the corpses of the dead Venatori soldiers.

However, Dorian was worried. The man who played the dashing “rogue” paced the floor and sloshed water into Tatum's face. “This isn't right,” he muttered folding his arms dismayed by what had happened in the Grand Hall not a few minutes before. “Alexius has no idea what he is trifling with. He's not seeing the possible consequences of his experiments coming to fruition.” His eyebrows furrowed as he shook his head. Tatum looked up at him at the same time his gaze hit hers. “Are you alright?”

“I'm fine,” Tatum replied. She returned to searching the body of one the soldiers, flipping the body over to search the small purse on his hip. Her fingers hit something cold and metallic, sharp and jagged. She pulled it out and saw that it was a key. She placed it in her side pouch and stood up. A small shiver coursed through her from being damp. Her feet drenched in the knee deep water. Her eyes examined the room. Large, jagged red lyrium growths stuck from the walls. The gentle hum growing ever slightly as she continued to stare at one. She shook her head, ignoring Dorian as he continued to rant about everything once being so academic and his worrying of Felix. She blinked several times, her mind distracted by perilous thoughts. “So where do you think we are exactly?”

“I'm more worried about _when_ we are,” Dorian muttered. “We need to find out what's happened and maybe – just maybe – we can reverse it.”

“You really think that's possible,” she asked as she walked past Dorian and placed her hands on the bars of the cell door.

“I don't know,” Dorian smoothed his moustache and frowned. “Theoretically? Possibly? We would have to find Alexius and force him to undo what he has done.”

“You make it sound so easy,” Tatum snorted when the cell door gave way and she ushered him through. “I doubt it is though.”

Dorian chuckled. “Then you should be glad that I am here with you then. I will protect you.”

“My hero,” Tatum mocked like an Orlesian dilettante swooning over some chevalier coming to her rescue. 

XXXXXX

In short order, they had found Varric and Blackwall. Both men had been tainted, bewitched by the red lyrium that had grown like a wildfire through the castle. Their eyes glowed menacingly as they walked the broken hallways. They weren't the same. _A year did this to them?_ She thought, her heart sorrowful as they updated them on what had happened since she and Dorian had disappeared. 

They thought she had been killed. The Elder One had come marching demons across the land, laying waste to everything that it came in contact with. The Inquisition tried to launch a rescue along with Ferelden's army, but nothing worked. Many battles were laid to waste on Castle Redcliffe's walls. _But what had happened, to Josephine, to Leliana: she was supposed to send word back to Haven. She was here. What of Cassandra and... and... Cullen?_ His name echoed in her head. She dared not ask what had become of him. She didn't want the weakness and according to Blackwall, they didn't know what had befell them once they were taken captive.

“Stop,” Blackwall muttered. 

Dorian and Tatum turned and looked at the Grey Warden with confusion. The older man's face beamed with hesitation. His eyes were wide as if recounting horrors that Tatum could never understand. She looked down at Varric, he was better at hiding his nervousness, but she could tell something was bothering them. 

“Blast it all, man,” Dorian snapped. “What's the problem? Hm? Speak up now?”

Tatum placed her hand on Dorian's shoulder and gave him a look. “Just give them a moment, okay?”

“We have to get to Alexius, remember?!” Dorian argued. “If we are to set things right, we must move forward.”

Tatum walked up to Blackwall and sighed. “I know this! Just – just give them a moment.” The corner of her mouth twitched as if to fake a smile for the Warden. “What is it?”

“You don't need to worry about me, Tatum,” Blackwall grumbled.

“It's the Torture Chambers,” Varric interjected.

Tatum turned around and saw Varric's face. _What in the Maker's name had they done to them?_ She let out a growl. She didn't know what to say, much less how she was going to deal with what had been happening. It had already been a lot to deal with. Time travel, the sheer idea of it reeked of folly. However, she had done it and she could barely stomach the notion of what it had done to the people of Thedas.

“We'll get this sorted and make sure this doesn't happen,” Tatum replied in an attempt to reassure her colleagues. She'd told herself that line so many times, that it sounded more and more like false hope than an actual plan. “But Dorian is right. We have to keep going.”

They walked through the heavy wooden door and into a long corridor. Doors lined the hallway, some ajar from bodies being used as doorstops. She peered into one and found it empty and then she heard voices coming from down the hall. They were muffled, but she could make out Leliana's defiant tone through the door.

She placed her hand on the ringed handle and held her breath. She heard a grunt from the otherside and she looked back at the group. They were ready for a fight. If not itching for it as she pressed the door open and walked into the room. The door squeaked on its hinges, distracting the Venatori just long enough for Leliana to get the drop on him. Tatum stepped back as the sudden crack and drop of the interrogator fell to the floor. Leliana's eyes were fixed on the man before her. She hung in chains not moving. 

Tatum came up to her. She was hesitant about her spymaster. There was an ominous glare she had that could only be called animosity. Tatum stared at her, the once vivacious woman she'd remembered looked nothing like that now. Her face was scarred, pock marked with disease. Her sunken eyes kept studying her in disbelief.

“You're alive,” Leliana murmured breathlessly. “I thought you were dead.”

“I've been getting that a lot today,” Tatum replied with a wry chuckle.

“We need information,” Dorian stated.

“There's nothing I can tell you,” Leliana growled. “There's nothing I _would_ tell you.”

“Leliana,” Tatum pleaded. “We're trying to set things right.”

“Set things right?” she repeated with a sneer. “There's nothing you can do about what's happened here.”

“It's not our fault,” Dorian argued. “We need to get to Alexius and then maybe we can reverse the spell - .”

“With what? More magic,” Leliana snapped as she walked out of the room and returned to continue her thought. “To think I was willing to give mages their freedom. To think it was a good idea. What a fool I was to believe it. The Chantry was right.”

“So you're going to paint all mages with the same brush,” Dorian spat. “What about me? What about Tatum?”

“We don't have time for this, remember?” Tatum yelped. “How do we get out of here?”

Leliana stuck her head into the hallway and waved the group over. “I've spent a year, being tortured. Experimented on. You don't understand. You'll never understand.” She looked at her wrinkled hands and frowned. “There's someone else here. Tatum?”

Tatum quirked an eyebrow and drew closer to Leliana. The spymaster pulled her into the hallway and drug her down the hallway to another wooden door. Tatum looked at the door and then to Leliana who only nodded for her to proceed. She was hesitant at first, but heard chains jingle from behind the door.

Slowly, like a child slipping into her parents chamber after a bad dream, stepped into the room. She looked back at Leliana, confused by entering a darkened room with no company; Dorian, Varric, and Blackwall tried to enter, but Leliana through her arm up to block their entrance. She didn't say anything just shut the door between them with a slam.

Tatum looked around the dimly lit room. It was musty smelling. It reeked of blood and excrement. “Hello?” Tatum whispered. Her hands shook as the jingling chains started again. They scraped along the stone and then stopped. She then heard breathing coming from behind her. She turned towards it. Her heart jumping into her throat not allowing her to scream. “It's alright. I'm here to get you out of here.” The breathing then moved to her side. She looked in the direction it was coming from and put her hand out to try and grab what ever was lurking in the darkness. She felt a breeze against her finger tips and then grunts moving away from her. “I'm not going to hurt you. My name's Tatum. Leliana - .”

“Tatum?” a guttural growl echoed back. There was scurrying in the darkness. It was coming towards her and then stopped. She bit her lip and then cold flesh touched her face. Searching her. Exploring her features with leathery fingertips. Then she felt hot breath against her cheek, ragged breathing and then a recoil. “There's a torch five paces to your right from where you are standing.”

“Okay,” Tatum stammered as she turned. 

_One._ A loud squish and pop gushed from under her foot. She paused, nearly panicing at the new smell permeating her nostrils. She held her breath and argued with herself not to vomit. _Two._ Her footing gave way and she landed on her back, the back of her head smacking the floor hard. Cold liquid hit her flesh through her clothes. She could barely move, her hips and elbows yelled out in pain. She stared into the darkness. _This is getting to be too much._ She hurried to her feet, her stomach tying in knots as her hands shot out before her. _Three._ She was safe in that step. Nothing misguided. No falling or sickening smells. _Four._ The man in the room scurried away from her mumbling to himself. She looked over her should, heart broken for whoever was there. _I will save you. Please trust me. Five._ Her hands hit a cold stone wall. She traced the grout with her fingers up with one had; across with the other. 

When her hand hit the handle of wood, gripped it and followed it up to the ignition source. She muttered to herself a simple incantation, and then she was blinded as the room flooded with illumination. She let out a yell and turned from the light. Her eyes throbbed as she feverishly rubbed them to tears. She looked at the ground and saw the floor painted in a thick coating of congealed muck. Her mouth gaped. She couldn't scream as her eyes adjusted to the horrors the light was now showing her in the room. Bodies with entrails exposed were stacked like cords of wood along a nearby wall. A clean space showed the darkened stone floor from where she fell. Tatum felt like she was going to be sick.

Her eyes lingered to the far side of the room. There stood a gaunt creature with its back to her. It's hands kept making fists and relaxing. It's spine protruded from its skin. Large diseased pieces of flesh hung off its body. This is the stuff of nightmares. 

“Tatum,” the creature repeated. “I thought you were dead.”

“Well, I'm not. I'm here to help you,” Tatum replied softly. She began to walk towards the creature. It spun around and stared deep into her soul. It felt like it was crushing her heart. She was terrified shocked at the amber eyes – now hollow – gazed into her. A small sneer crossed its tattered face.

“I didn't think you cared, one way or the other what happened to me,” its tone became more cross as it spoke. “I thought you'd prefer I fall on my sword.” 

Tatum took a step back. She shook her head, trying to make sure she wasn't dreaming. “No. No. Cullen.”


	14. Chapter 14

Tatum walked in silence, her head drifting from floor to ceiling in an attempt to keep from looking at her antithesis. _No,_ she thought as her eyes woefully fought to keep from gazing on the shadow of a man beside her, _that's not the right word for him.  Not now.  Not here.  Not after..._ Cullen was now looking at her with sunken eyes.  The faintest glint of red flashed behind them.  The ominous growl of a man turning lunatic before her pranced precariously within her ears.

She couldn't help but feel sorry for them, for him.  She understood that this wasn't real.  It was a future, their future.  To them, it was very real.  The horrible things that they had been trespassed upon them.  She wasn't there.  She didn't save them.  She was useless to them.  The damage was already done.

“I still can't believe you're here,” Cullen finally muttered as he rested his hand on the pommel of a sword.  “We all thought you died.”

“I know,” Tatum murmured.  She turned her eyes to the back of Dorian's head.  The Tevinter rambled off questions to Leliana to gain information, but it was for naught.  She wasn't having it, nor was the banal chatter to fill the deathly silence something that anyone in the group really desired.  “Cullen.”  She stopped.  Her hands clutching to fists.  Cullen walked several steps before turning back to her; his face full of confusion.  “This isn't what I wanted.  This isn't my future.  Seeing this.  This is your present.  One that I can't help but feel guilty for let happen.”  Cullen cocked his head briefly.  His eyes brightened and a small smile crossed his withered face.  

“Stop,” Cullen grumbled coyly.  “Maker's breath, you really don't know.”  His bony arm outstretched towards her and she took a step back.  A sense of dread came over her as he lumbered towards her with a single step.  “I don't blame you.”  

“Tatum,” Dorian called, his mustache furrowing slightly with his frown.  “We're going to fix this.”

“I know,” Tatum whispered as she looked over the faces of the people.  “And we'll make sure this doesn't happen.”

She started walking again.  This time, her steps matching Cullen's at a slower clip.  She was remorseful.  Every venom-filled word she spat at him.  Every seething death she'd thought up for him, came crashing down around her.

“What did they do to you?” she asked Cullen.  She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye and saw his face grow pale.  A slight grimace came across his face as he thought back to his capture and torture.  “If you don't want to talk about it, I'll understand.”

“No.  It's alright,” he said.  He cleared his throat and reached for her belt.  His bony fingers clawed at her water skin.  She unlaced it and handed it to him.  He took several sips before coughing violently in to his peeling hands.  Black and red sputum dripped through his clenched fist and hit the floor with a sickening gelatinous slap.  Tatum's eyes grew in horror, but Cullen seemed more embarrassed by the fluids dripping from his lips.  “Please, don't look,” he pleaded.  He put his hand to her back and pressed her forward so that they could continue to walk.

He didn't speak again, until they came to a large door.  “Things were done to me.  The nightmares that came from them.  I care not to speak of.”  His eyes lingered towards her.  His shoulders slumped.  A cascade of cracks and pops erupted from his joints as the drooped further.  “I don't want you to remember me this way.”  His breathing became heavy and then he turned towards the door they had come through.  “Yes, I scorned you.  Cursed you.  Screamed your name in hatred for all that had befallen me.  I had failed you.  You had failed to come back.  It was everyone's fault that this had happened to Thedas.  I prayed to the Maker and he did not answer.  I wished that it had been Carah that had been the one to find me, not you.  It should have been her at the Temple.  Not some mage that could barely keep her wits about her.”  With each word he spoke his breath became more ragged, his voice shriller with each sentence.  He lunged at her, anger and hatred seethed on his hot breath as he grabbed her arms and pulled Tatum within inches of him.  Hot, putrescent breath stung her nostrils as he glared down at her.  “I _hated_ you.   _I despised you._ ”  He pulled her ever closer, until her head was upon his breast.  The soft sounds of a heartbeat were caged within.  It was soft and soothing and under the clammy, dying skin – all too warm.

Tatum's eyes filled with tears.  She grieved her inaction.  She hated being here.  Hated bearing witness to the calamity that her death would impose on the people she knew.  She hated Alexius, hated her failure.   _I just wanted to do what was right_ , she thought.  Going to Redcliffe was the simplest and safest course of action and it had led to this.  Alexius's magic had cast her down and they had paid for it because they were unprepared.  Always unprepared.

“But that wasn't enough,” Cullen continued.  “Hating you didn't fix it.  Not the pain and screaming.  Not the torture and decay.  I wept.  For you.  I died countless times on that table as they shaved pieces of me away.”  He held up his arm to show her the deep gouges that ran along his veins.  Each tended nearly broke through the thin veil of flesh.  “When I found out you had died, my penance was to try and make things right.  But they weren't and I was left this shell of a man.  A walking corpse that can hardly believe that _you_ are standing before me.”  He wrapped his arm around her back and let out a rattling shutter.  “And now, my dear Tay-tum, I have to do what I said I was going to do.”

He shoved Tatum away from him.  Hard.  She nearly stumbled over the banister of the staircase to the ground below, but Blackwall had caught her just before her hips could tilt her past the falling point.  She grabbed her staff and gasped as Cullen ran back toward the grand hallway.

“Keep them going, Leliana!  Don't let her follow me,” Cullen called as he passed the threshold and slammed the door shut behind him.  

Tatum broke lose of Blackwall's grasp, only to be met by Leliana's cold, unfeeling hand squeeze around her upper arm.  Tatum gasped and gave the ghoul of a woman a damning glare.  She wasn't going to let him die.  She couldn't.  It's not what she wanted.  It's not what she needed. _Haven't I bore witness to enough.  I need every person here to get to Alexius.  I don't need a martyr,_ she thought angrily.  

She wrenched her arm away and ran back down the stairs, to the door that had separated her from the commander of her forces.  Her commander.   _That damnedable man._  She hit it once.  “Cullen!”  She heard the fighting. “Cullen!” Steel and gasps.  She jiggled the door handle.  Shouts and growls.  “Damn it, Cullen!”  Grunts and the splatter of blood hitting cold, hard stone.

“I thought you didn't care about him,” Leliana hissed from behind her.  “He's just a templar.  You don't like templars.  Remember?”

Tatum rested her head on the door and closed her eyes.  She could imagine what was going on just a few feet away.  He was dying and she couldn't do anything about it.  He heard him gasp.  A harsh whistle escaped him and she knew he had been struck.  Hot tears streaked down her cheeks.  They were uncontrollable.  Painful.  Why was she crying?  This is what she had wanted.  He was dying.   _But it's not what I want.  Maker, it's not what I want._

“No.  Not like this,”  Tatum finally muttered.  “Not like this.”

Then, there was silence.  Dreadful and hateful.  An entire mystery that couldn't be solved.  Soft shuffling came toward the door and then stopped.  Tatum stepped away, staff at the ready.  She would kill the sons of bitches the second they came through.  It's the least she could do for Cullen and his memory.  Not some cheap shot blow to the future that she was given that had lent to this man's sacrifice.

The knob jiggled and then clicked.  Slowly, the door swung ajar and in fell a bloody body at her feet.  It out a loud grunt and then reached out for her foot.  Tatum took a step back in fear.  Not much shook her to her core, but the butchered person at her feet did little to keep her grounded in this hellish nightmare she was enduring.  She bit her lip when the fingers tapped in a depressive tempo.  

“Tatum,” the man gurgled into the floor.

“Cullen,”  Tatum gasped as she fell to her knees and hurried to the man.  She turned him over, her gloves saturated in the man's fluids and held him.  “You shouldn't have run off.”

“I didn't run off,” Cullen argued weakly.  “I was doing what I told you I would do: protecting you with my life.”

“No,” she sulked.  Her throat grew tight as she restrained a new wave of tears.  “You can't die.  Not now.”

Cullen let out a soft chuckle and looked up at her.  Their eyes locked and no words could be expressed for their emotions as they gazed into one another.  They didn't need to say anything in those soft spoken moments.  He brushed her cheek with his finger and groaned.

“Tatum.  I need you to do something for me,” Cullen grumbled.

“Anything.”

She felt her dagger unsheathing from her boot and then saw it rest upon his chest.  His hand tightened on the grip.  His eyes pleaded up at her.

“Help me, Tatum.”  He begged.  “I am dying.  I don't want to turn into one of those things.  I want to die as I am now.”

“What?!  No!”  Tatum chirped.

“I am asking you.  Begging you.  Please.  Do this for me,” he urged.  He took her hand in his and stood the tip of the blade to his chest.  “I have given you my life.  Let me go in peace.”  He frowned as she feverishly shook her head.  “I know you can do this.  I know you do not want to.  But I want it to be you to do this.  I need it to be you to do it.  Because I believe in you.  I trust you.”  His muscles tensed over her thighs as he began to cough.  “And I'm sorry.  For everything.  From before, to now.”

“You didn't want me to remember you this way,” Tatum argued.

“You'll remember, that I am always willing to lay my life down for you.  My life has always been in your hands.  Remember that, when you get out of here and reset things to the way they were,” Cullen replied.  Tatum saw the pain and anguish in his eyes as she held the handle of her blade.  Slowly, she nodded her consent and a warm smile crossed the broken man's face.  He squeezed her hand tighter as she plunged the dagger into his chest.  She kept her eyes on him as he grew pale.  His lips moved one final time.  “There's no more pain.”

Then there was nothing.  No movement, no wind, no crush depths of elation for killing him.  She was in a void so deep, her head couldn't handle the pressure.  The only sound came from her heart beat ringing in her ears.

“Is he gone,” Dorian asked.  

She didn't look at him.  She couldn't speak for a moment.  There was too much to take in.  Too many possibilities and this was the one she was handed.  Finally, she slid Cullen from her lap and sighed.  She was exhausted, both physically and emotionally.  She couldn't cry any longer.  There were no more tears to be shed.

“Yes,” Tatum growled.  “Now let's end this.  I'm not losing anyone else today.  Or by the Maker, I will make them all pay.”


End file.
